


Nothing Risked, Nothing Lost

by spasmodicIntrigue



Category: Homestuck
Genre: (tip: romance isn't the focus so the pairings don't come until later in the story), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Derse/Prospit Royalty, Alternate Universe - Modern Fantasy, Angst, Canon-Typical Profanity, Canon-Typical Violence, Classpect Powers/Interpretations, Family, Friendship, HarlEngCrockBerts, Horrorterrors - Freeform, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Political Intrigue, Slow Build, Strilondes, Time Shenanigans, War, pesterlogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-07-15 06:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 186,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7212487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spasmodicIntrigue/pseuds/spasmodicIntrigue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Try as he might, Dave remembered nothing from the first four years of his life.</i> </p>
<p>There were three signs of imminent upheaval. First, the King of Derse disappeared without a trace. Second, the Queen of Prospit dropped dead. The third sign was the return of long-lost royalty.</p>
<p>Not like any of this was Dave's concern. Not the war between Prospit and Derse, not the horrorterrors of the Furthest Ring, not the failings of some dumb monarchs. He was a nobody. Not like Rose, a bona fide Seer of Light. He wasn't sure why she wanted them to go to Derse, but he followed her, anyway. Like he always did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Trembling With Anticipation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I started writing this on a whim and so far I have four (relatively short) chapters written and I am having an absolute fucking blast. Why did no one ever tell me how much fun it is to write pesterlogs? Omg it's incredible. This is my first time formatting them, though, so that was kind of a bitch. But I think I have a system in place now.
> 
> This chapter is kind of a shitty first chapter, but it's also relevant for the setup/exposition, so... sorry about that. Plz bear with me though, I tend to always bite off far more than I can chew with fanfictions.

Try as he might, Dave remembered nothing from the first four years of his life. He remembered parts of the fifth, sixth, and seventh with more clarity than he remembered last week, but those first four years were all but lost to the unending stream of time.

A few times, he'd asked Rose if she remembered anything. She gave him vague answers, like, “bits and pieces,” or “sometimes.” Sometimes?! What did that even mean? When he tried to grill her for concrete details, she had this way of changing the subject or distracting him.

He figured it only made sense that she remembered more than him, her being a Seer of Light and all.

Rose had had her first vision when they were six years old. They were living on the streets of some dangerous, overheated, and unfriendly town. Dave hated it there. Those two years they were in that town were the earliest memories he had. In retrospect, he figured the constant heat might have been part of what kept them alive. In any other town, they probably would have frozen to death when winter crept in and night descended.

Dave and Rose were a team. Back then, they’d pull street hooligan-y hijinks to keep themselves alive. Rose would distract the vendor while Dave nicked the goods; Dave would infiltrate the shop while Rose kept watch. Basic tricks, and the amount of times they'd had to run for it was uncountable, but they were effective nonetheless. Effective in keeping them alive.

They were the same age, but Dave had always sort of… _relied_ on Rose. Not that he would ever admit it to her. He'd always just felt like she would have done perfectly fine on her own, while knowing that he’d be dead twenty times over without her. She was the smart one, she always had been. The one with the plan, who always knew what to do.

So when she collapsed, one day, right in the middle of the street, eyes rolling in her head and lips muttering deliriously and incomprehensibly, Dave had been at a complete loss as to _what the fuck he should do_. More to avoid the stares of passers-by than anything else, he’d dragged the feverish Rose off the streets to try and get some sense out of her. When he asked her desperately what to do, her only response was something about “rain” and “light” and how much they needed to get out of that shithole of a town. Maybe not in those exact words, but in essence.

Dave had no arguments, and so, supporting his sister as best he could, he’d gotten them to the outskirts of town. It was so much colder there than the town centre, and the cold seemed to restore Rose’s senses enough to tell him, “East,” and point to the road they needed to take.

By the time they reached the next town over, a place where the weather see-sawed between torrential downpour and bright sunshine, Rose had recovered herself. Once again, she knew exactly what to do.

Ten years later, they were only now about to leave the Temple of Light, their tentative ‘home’ since that day.

Dave was relieved to finally be getting out. He knew from the beginning that he didn’t belong, didn’t fit in like the other kids at the temple. Not like Rose, who practically owned the place from the second she set foot over the gleaming, marble threshold. It stood to reason—she was a Seer of Light in a Temple of Light. However much Dave _didn’t_ belong here, Rose _did_. It had been generous of the temple to take him in at all—he wasn’t a disciple, he wasn’t an acolyte, he wasn’t a Seer. He wasn’t _anything_ other than Rose’s brother. That was the only reason they let him stay. That, and the fact that, thanks to his shades, there were very few of the temple's generally superstitious occupants who knew the true colour of his eyes. It had caused a stir in the early days, and Dave had thought about leaving just to save Rose the trouble. He hadn’t, though, because he was scared to be on his own. Then he got his shades, and the fuss faded into insignificance. 

The shades were a gift from a friend Dave had never met in person, after he’d complained about how the brightness of the temple and town gave him almost constant headaches. That was, he supposed, the major upside of the temple: computation. A few weeks after they’d arrived, Rose had drawn him out of their shared quarters to show him the computer room, and walked him through setting up a chum handle and meeting people in anonymous private chat rooms.

“I shouldn’t think anyone around here will be too willing to befriend you,” she told him.

“Thanks,” he’d said drily, knowing she was right.

She smiled. “On the other hand, they seem far _too_ willing to befriend _me_ , and it’s getting… well, tiresome. But Pesterchum gives us an opportunity to befriend people our own age who know nothing of our circumstances, appearance, birthplace, anything.”

“ _We_ don’t even know our birthplace,” Dave reminded her.

She shrugged. “Not for now. These things have a way of catching up to you—soon, where one is born will be more important than ever.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he grumbled. He had no doubt she was right, but wished she would be less cryptic. A few months later, when the war between Prospit and Derse broke out in earnest on the battleground at Skaia, Dave had rolled his eyes because of _course_ ; now the kingdom boundaries were suddenly super relevant.

Over the next few weeks after Rose introduced him to the computers, he spent a decent chunk of time in the computer room having conversations with the randoms Pesterchum set him up with. Most of them were assholes, but there were a couple who were alright, in a dumb, dorky sort of way. Fun to rag on. They went by the chum handles of ghostyTrickster (although more recently he’d changed to ectoBiologist, for some unexplained, and undoubtedly arbitrary reason) and gardenGnostic. He didn’t know their real names and they didn’t know his. They knew practically nothing about each other, and yet, by pure virtue of their conversations, the clashing of personalities via the exchange of colourful typed words on an LCD screen, they were friends. Rose became fast friends with them, too, having not made any real friends within the temple. Everyone wanted to be associated with the Seer of Light, but they didn't want to be friends in any _meaningful_ sense of the word.

When Dave was eight, he saved up the meagre pocket money he earned doing chores around the Temple and bought himself a handheld device so he didn’t have to sequester himself in a corner of the computer room to be able to talk to his friends. So while the past twelve years hadn’t been great, they hadn’t been especially terrible.

On their sixteenth birthday (a rather understated affair), Rose said, without even looking up from her book, “We’ll leave here soon.”

“Soon? How soon?”

Rose only hummed thoughtfully.

A few months later, she came to the door of their shared bedroom and said, “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

He sat up, placing his device down beside him. He’d been having a (playful) argument with EB about some shitty motion picture star he idolised. Dave hadn't even seen the mo-pic in question, it was just fun to rile the guy up. “Tomorrow?” he asked. “Fuck, finally. Where are we going?”

Rose frowned. “Derse City.”

Dave blinked. “Seriously? Aren’t they way up on their security at the moment? Drones and shit?”

“Yes, but…” She looked hesitant for a moment. Dave rarely saw Rose looking hesitant. “We need to go there. I know a way in, it just… won’t be easy, is all.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay. When is it ever easy for us?”

“Indeed,” she said gravely, but smiled anyway. “You may want to let our friends know that it might be a while before we can contact them again. I will be doing the same, of course.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dave hadn’t thought about that; his singular notion had been about finally getting out of this fucking temple. “I guess I’ll do that.”

Rose nodded again and disappeared from the doorway.

Dave picked up his device again.

EB: look, bottom line is: mcconaughey is a pariah of the art of acting and being a manly badass, and you’re just jealous that you’ll never be that talented!!  
EB: so THERE!  
EB: ...  
EB: uh...  
EB: TG?  
EB: you there?  
EB: haha, did i seriously own you so hard that your device exploded or something?  
EB: that would be hilarious.  
EB: but also unfortunate i guess.  
EB: hello??  
TG: hey  
TG: im here  
EB: where did you go?  
TG: nowhere  
TG: TT wanted to talk  
TG: moving soon  
EB: moving?  
EB: oh that’s cool.  
EB: if you’re going somewhere less sunny i guess you wont need those shades anymore, huh?  
TG: uh fuck that these shades are part of me now  
TG: when im dead some embalmer or undertaker or whatever the fuck will be trying to pry them from my face  
TG: but fuck no they wont let go  
TG: i am one with the shades  
TG: now and forever  
TG: so fuck the guy who ever tries to separate us  
TG: you know the troll quadrants?  
TG: well  
TG: these shades are my matesprit AND my moiral  
TG: these shades and i TRANSCEND troll quadrants  
TG: trolls are always like: you dumbass humans you dont understand troll romance, its too complicated and your soft little hornless heads are too dumb bluh bluh  
TG: fuck you trolls why dont you try getting your head around the bond between me and these SWEET SHADES  
TG: trolls: oh FUCK its too much for my carefully segmented understanding of relationships to even COMPREHEND!!!  
EB: wow shut up already!  
EB: great, ok, you and your shades have a fucked up and illicit and yet strangely loving and unhealthily co dependent relationship.  
EB: i am happy for you!!  
EB: so when are you moving?  
TG: tomorrow  
EB: wow, short notice!  
TG: yeah thats how it is with TT  
TG: im used to it  
TG: it only took sixteen fuckin years but yeah thats just her sometimes.

Neither EB nor GG knew that Rose was a Seer. They just thought she was hella fucking smart, which... wasn't untrue.

TG: anyway wont be able to talk with you and GG for a while i think  
EB: oh. that sucks.  
EB: how long?  
TG: no fuckin clue  
EB: naturally.  
TG: yeah  
TG: one of these days TT is gonna give me some super vague answer to something really fucking important  
TG: and im probably going to flip all my shit and fly right off the fucking handle  
EB: will you do an acrobatic pirouette off that handle?  
TG: what no  
TG: fuck that  
TG: i will do a majestic fucking double backflip turnaround off the handle and land in a cartwheel and end in an arabesque before promptly flipping some more shit  
TG: because  
TG: that is definitely a thing that i am physically able to do  
TG: with a sword in my hand and everything

He was only half-lying: Dave _was_ pretty handy with a sword. He hadn't had much else to do in his free time for the past twelve years, other than bugging EB and GG, and that wasn't something he could do constantly. Learning to fight seemed like a good idea for no reason in particular.

EB: right, of course.  
EB: sorry for my mistake, i wont ever mix up your gymnastic choreographies ever again.  
TG: its k i forgive you  
EB: have you told GG yet?  
TG: about my gymnastic choreographies??  
EB: no, you asshole! about the fact that you’re moving.  
TG: nah i was gonna do that after you decided youd had your fill of glorious hunk for the day.  
EB: oh ha ha, yes you are so hunky  
EB: im swooning as i type.  
TG: its ok i have the same effect on everyone  
EB: JK. :P  
EB: if i’m ever in need of glorious hunk, the only one i need is the one and only matt mcconaughey.  
EB: but i’m not ever in need of glorious hunk, because i am not a homosexual.  
TG: are you sure  
EB: yes.  
EB: are you?  
TG: no i think im in love with you  
EB: <3  
TG: nah fuck off  
EB: </3  
TG: anyway i should probably go tell GG. TT will probably talk to you soon too  
EB: yeah, she already is.  
TG: aw yeah look at me im just like her all making predictions that come true and shit  
TG: fuck yeah  
TG: anyway i should stop talking  
EB: do you even know how?  
TG: not really  
EB: lol!  
EB: well, anyway, i hope moving goes smoothly for you.  
TG: thanks  
TG: talk to ya when i talk to ya i guess  
EB: see you!  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] \--  
  
TG: hey  
GG: hey yourself!! :D  
GG: whats up??  
TG: oh you know  
TG: chillin  
TG: cause im a chill guy  
GG: hehe yup!  
TG: anyway  
TG: just thought i should let you know  
TG: TT and i are moving and it might be a while until we talk again  
GG: oh no :(  
GG: do you know how long it will be?  
TG: nope  
TG: you think i get details about these things  
TG: fuck no  
TG: im like TTs dog, she tells me “were gonna do the thing” and im like “welp i guess were doing the thing not like i have any fuckin say in the matter”  
TG: because it always turns out exactly how she says anyway  
GG: hehe she is very smart like that  
GG: i think shes lucky to have a brother like you though! :)  
TG: aw shucks  
TG: i mean fuck yeah she is  
TG: damn  
TG: the shit i put up with for her sake you wouldnt believe it  
GG: im sure i wouldnt!!  
GG: anyway ill miss you guys :(  
TG: it might not be that long like i said i have no idea  
TG: TT might give you a straight answer if you ask her idk  
GG: well ill miss you anyway!!! :(  
TG: aight  
TG: be sure to keep EBs ego in check while were gone  
TG: without me to knock him down who knows what could happen  
TG: kids head might straight up fuckin pop like the fucking hindenburg  
GG: aw thats a little harsh!  
TG: nah its all in good fun  
GG: i guess!  
GG: ill keep an eye on him, dont you worry ;)  
TG: thanks  
GG: youre welcome!  
TG: make sure to keep yourself out of trouble and stuff too  
GG: oh dont worry about me :)  
GG: thank you for caring though! <3  
TG: np  
TG: shits just par for the course in the field of friendship  
GG: haha, of course!  
TG: anyway i should probably sleep now  
TG: who knows what ungodly hour of the morning ill wake up to TT shaking my shoulder all gentle like  
TG: giving me that cryptic fucking smirk and saying something cliche  
TG: like, “its time”  
TG: im trembling with anticipation i can hardly fuckin wait  
GG: im sure itll be great fun!! :)  
GG: sweet dreams, TG!!!!  
GG: message me as soon as you can ok??  
TG: will do  
TG: see ya  
GG: byeee!!!!! <3  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] \--

As Dave had predicted, it was ridiculously early when he woke to Rose gently shaking his shoulder. But instead of giving him a cryptic smirk and saying something cliché, she looked notably tense, whispering, “We need to leave now, and quickly. Before anyone wakes up.”

Dave dragged himself into a sitting position, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes. “We’re _sneaking_ out?”

Rose nodded. “Do you really think the Priesthood would let me leave so easily? I’ve been planning this for weeks. We can leave via the crypts before the morning ceremony, and by the time they discover we’re gone we’ll be halfway to Derse City.” She pursed her lips. “Well, maybe not halfway, but too far for them to catch us.”

“You’ve been planning this for weeks and you never thought to, I don't know, _tell me anything_?” Dave demanded.

Rose rolled her eyes. “I know I should have mentioned it, but it wasn’t the right time. Now get dressed, quickly. Dress for walking. Bring only what you need. Leave rations to me.”

As he was so accustomed to doing with Rose, Dave did as he was told.

By high noon, the Temple of Light and the town surrounding it were little more than a speck on the horizon, and growing smaller with every step they took in the opposite direction. Towards Derse. Towards something new and unknown.

TG: im trembling with anticipation i can hardly fuckin wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly I'm gonna go ahead and admit that I can't write romance to save my life. So while romance _miiiiight possssibllyyyy_ [[EDIT: _will probably_ ]] play a role in this story, it won't be such a big deal.  
> For now, most of the '/' relationships in the tags will be largely implied rather than explicitly shown, aaand as others become a possibility (I'm hoping to get to a point where I can make RoseMary a thing because universal constants and all that) I'll add them to the tags. Sound good? Okay. Most of the focus will be on friendship and family ties anyway.
> 
> Mostly because I'm StriLonde family feels trash okay i admit it.


	2. Party Pooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Whoever thought it was a good idea to have humans and trolls ruling in tandem?” she asked._   
>  _“Fuck if I know,” said Dirk, shaking his head._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally have an exam in like three days and this is what I'm doing to procrastinate studying. And it's a fuckin' barrel of fun so far. I should probably mention that this fic is pretty damn self-indulgent.
> 
> But hey, if you're reading this you've reached chapter two! So... thanks.

\--  timaeusTestified [TT]  started pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]  \--  
  
TT: Roxy.  
TT: Council chambers.  
TT: Now.  
TT: wooahh clm your tits dirk  
TT: *calm  
TT: hello 2 u 2   
TT: so rude not 2 say hi b4 jumpin in2 ur........ TRIDEAE  
TT: *tirdae  
TT: *tirade gdi  
TT: whats the big rush???  
TT: cant a gril just chil out evry now n then?? witout stressin n worryn all the time   
TT: *girl *without  
TT: hahaha grill l o l cn u imgain  
TT: *imagine  
TT: Are you seriously drunk right now?  
TT: You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.  
TT: Or, rather: I asked you to be here fifteen minutes ago, because the King is missing and we have a war on our hands.  
TT: War means war councils, which are pretty fucking unbearable to begin with, and even more so when the acute responsibility of keeping everything civil and copacetic falls right across the shoulders of yours truly.  
TT: Meaning, I need you here right now before I gouge out my own eyes and inner ears with an ornate decorative teaspoon.  
TT: If there’s one thing this palace isn’t short on, it’s mouthy asshole advisors and unnecessarily lavish cutlery. I’m up to my ears in both of those things and I can only handle so much florid fucking cutlery.  
TT: geeeeeeeeeeeeeez  
TT: okaaaaaaaaaaaaaay  
TT: ill beeee theeeerrreeee  
TT: soon  
TT: ill scurry ther rly quick ok  
TT: do u hear that pitter patterin sound????  
TT: its me im scurriyn so fast rn  
TT: *scurryin  
TT: keep your cute lil head on ur sholders til i get there k  
TT: no goggin  
TT: *gougin  
TT: lmao no goggin either the greaser sea troll might start gettin ideas  
TT: ...  
TT: wait  
TT: wheres the concil chambers agn???  
TT: Oh my fucking god.  
TT: Tell me you’re just fucking with me.  
TT: dw im jus fuckin wit u ;3  
TT: mr prince reagent  
TT: Regent. Prince Regent.  
TT: reagent  
TT: wtf does that even MEAN n e way  
TT: It means you have to do what I say, when I say it.  
TT: So hurry the fuck up.  
TT: u never use the magic word dirk :(  
TT: whats a girl gotta do to get some APPERCITATION round here  
TT: *aprecition  
TT: *apprecaition  
TT: w/e you know what i mean  
TT: ...  
TT: Fine.  
TT: Please get up here before I commit some form of –icide with a tiny silver teaspoon.  
TT: Be it homicide, suicide, or sororicide, if you get your ass into gear we will never have to find out.  
TT: aw now im curiosu :(  
TG: *curious  
TT: You won’t be for long if it happens to be the lattermost.  
TG: tru dat  
TG: okaaaay nrly there  
TT: One more thing:  
TT: Please stop getting drunk in the middle of the day.  
  
\--  timaeusTestified [TT]  ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]  \--  
  
TG: what a party pooper  
  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG]  ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]  \--

Despite the fact that fucking with Dirk was and likely always would be one of Roxy’s favourite past times, it just hadn’t been the same ever since the King had dropped off the face of the planet. It wasn’t as if either of them were really upset about their father up and disappearing—the guy had been all hells of distant, and neither of them could really claim to know him in any meaningful way. It was more what he had left behind for none other than Dirk to deal with: a city in disarray, at war not only with Prospit, but with the demon forces of the Furthest Ring. It was as if the King had decided to fuck everything up just for shits and giggles and then abscond so he wouldn’t have to deal with the fall out.

Which meant it was Dirk’s job, as Prince Regent, to rule in his stead and, with the limitations of not actually _being_ King, attempt to fix the absent King’s mistakes before the entire city came crashing down around them. In turn, that meant it was Roxy’s job to deal with Dirk. Try as she might to keep him from going off the deep end, there wasn’t really anyone there to stop _her_ from falling face first into the void.

She knew her coping mechanisms were flawed, but it was just so _easy_ to get her hands on a cask of wine in this place!

Heaving a great sigh, Roxy closed the chat module embedded into her circlet tiara, and checked her reflection in the windows opposite the council chamber door.

Her circlet was lopsided.

Whoops.

She fixed it and then, with a flourish, knocked upon the door. An attendant opened it a crack, and seeing who she was, bowed her in.

The room fell silent as she entered.

The council chambers were about as stolid as could be expected of a room where a whole lot of kingdom personnel had bi-weekly arguments about Very Serious Business. Since the King’s disappearance a month earlier, the business had become Very, Very Serious, Very, Very Grim, and there were meetings every other day. It was wearing Dirk down, which was, in its turn, wearing Roxy down.

She wished they could just… _end_ the war. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy.

“Sister,” said Dirk in greeting. He was on the opposite side of the room from her, standing at the head of the council table with his palms laid flat against the hard wood. A scowl tugged at his features, and Roxy couldn’t help but wonder when he last laughed or even so much as _smirked_. He’d always been stoic, but this was just ridiculous. She toyed with the idea of getting him drunk later.

“Greetings, Brother! Greeting, members of the council!” Roxy said with cheerful bravado. The council consisted of both trolls and humans, with a compulsory pair of carapacians to lend their perspectives to the matters at hand. Usually they just agreed with whoever was in charge—which, for now, was Dirk. The ages of the council members varied, but all of them were older than Dirk’s nineteen years, making it very hard for him to gain their trust and respect, and making Roxy the youngest in the room at the present moment. Honestly, if they wouldn’t listen to Dirk, she didn’t know why he wanted _her_ around. Not only was she a year younger, but also a supposed “lady.” Whatever that was supposed to mean.

She was also drunk at the moment, but no one else needed to know that. Hey—sometimes the wine can give you a unique perspective on things! It also made the members of the council considerably easier to be around.

The door swung shut behind her, blocking out the daylight. There were no windows in the council chamber—only lamps, one on each of the four walls, and one hanging down from the ceiling, illuminating the various maps and overly-formal correspondences from various parts of the kingdoms.

Roxy took the empty seat across from Dirk. “So! What’s the hot topic of today’s council, folk and merfolk?” She winked at Cronus, who was somewhat of a useless, indecisive advisor, but incredibly amusing, and also a member of Dersian nobility. It would have been ill-advised (haha, get it? ‘Cause he’s an advisor) to remove him from the council. On top of everything else, they did _not_ need dissent among the higher castes of troll.

Dirk sighed through his nostrils. “Thank you for coming,” he said stiffly. “Late though you may be. We’ve just received some startling correspondence from the Crown of Prospit. Sollux?”

He nodded at the troll to his left, who stood with a nod. Roxy liked Sollux. A messenger and a diplomat between Prospit and Derse, he could be standoffish at times, but he was kind of cute, too.

“As of last Monday,” he began, and Roxy had to fight the urge to giggle at his adorable little lisp, “The Queen of Prospit was announced deceased of yet undetermined causes. The new Queen is to be crowned within the next day or so.” He inclined his head to Roxy, bowed to Dirk, and sat down again.

Roxy’s eyes widened. “The Queen of Prospit is dead?” she said. “But that means—”

“—That both kingdoms are under new management, albeit temporary in our case,” Dirk finished, giving her a look that said, _not here._ “This could potentially work in our favour.”

“Could the two things be, like… related?” Roxy asked. It seemed too convenient to be coincidental that the Prospitian Queen should suddenly pass away a month after the disappearance of the Dersian King.

“That’s what we were just discussing when you walked in,” said one of the advisors to Roxy’s right; a human advisor that she’d never bothered to learn the name of. “Personally, I find it highly likely that His Majesty may have absconded the city in order to settle a personal vendetta against the queen—”

“This isn’t the time for theories,” Dirk broke in firmly. He interrupted people far more frequently these days than he ever used to, but Roxy supposed that was his right as Prince Regent. “We deal only in facts at this table. We observe what has happened, what might happen, and how we should respond. That is the purpose of a _war council_.” His volume rose very slightly on the last few words, and for a moment he stood there silently, just breathing. “Whoever— _what_ ever—is responsible for the Prospitian Queen’s death, it does not matter to us. It only matters that she is dead, and we should be thinking about how we might reach out to the new queen. I have no doubt that she will want to end this petty squabble as much as we do.”

_No doubt at all_ , Roxy thought slyly. _Not like we know her personal views for sure due to years of pesterchum conversations or anything… hehehe._

“Petty squabble?” piped up a nameless troll advisor. “This is no petty squabble, your Highness! This war is a matter of _honour_ , of displaying our dominance over the weaker kingdom! A show of our superior strength!”

Dirk rubbed at the bridge of his nose in frustration. “On any other occasion, perhaps! Fine! Glory to Derse, and all that. But whilst both sides are being attacked by a third party, neither of us can ever hope to gain the upper hand. We’re at an impasse due to an errant force that cares not one _bit_ for a conflict between kingdoms. Every loss we inflict to their side is one less force fighting the Furthest Ring, as is every loss they inflict upon us. What do you think will eventually happen? We’re evenly matched, and both with limited resources. Both sides will be overrun, Skaia destroyed, and then the demons will inevitably come for us. Here, where we sleep. Derse and Prospit both.”

“So we need a truce!” Roxy suggested. “A temporary one, at the very least. Just until _that_ particular threat can be flushed.”

“At the very least,” Dirk agreed quietly.

“The King would not like that,” said the deep voice of Equius, on Dirk’s right. Equius was Heir to house Zahhak, which, along with house Ampora and few other notable names, was one of the most influential Troll Nobilities in Derse. His father, Horuss, was once page to the King before he was sent to be weapons master on the front lines at Skaia. In his absence, Equius was temporary weapons master at home in Derse. Roxy found him all levels of creepy, but… honour and diplomacy meant he pretty much _had_ to be around.

“To hell with what he would like! He’s not here, and he’s the one who left us in this mess in the first place!” Dirk blurted out, with a rather undue amount of vitriol. Roxy understood where he was coming from, but she didn’t think getting pissed off would sway the council in his favour.

“That is to say,” she piped up, “so long as the King is absent, the Prince Regent is the one in charge. That being Dirk, of course.” She shrugged. “So we can make a temporary truce, and when— _if_ —the King ever returns, he can do whatever the hell he likes. Dissolve it, keep it, use it to forge a peace treaty—” as if that would ever happen, “—whatever, what he chooses to do is _his_ business. Dirk’s business— _our_ business—is to keep the city in one piece in his absence. Geez, not to mention his army!” The guy would be pissed if he came home to be told that his army had been annihilated. It would be his own fault, but he’d still blame everyone but himself.

He was a pretty terrible King. And an even worse father.

Dirk nodded at her. “Yes. Thank you, Roxy. That’s another matter I’d like to discuss: if Sollux is here to deliver news of the Queen’s death, we can assume that the people of Prospit are already well aware. We ought to do the same with our citizens. They deserve to know.”

Roxy cocked her head in confusion. “That Prospit’s Queen is dead?”

Dirk rolled his eyes. “No, you idiot. That our King is missing.”

The councillors fidgeted. Their hesitation did not go unnoticed by Dirk.

“Are you seriously still conflicted about this?!” he asked them incredulously, eyes flashing around the room and briefly landing on every councillor who showed the merest hint of hesitation. In this light, his eyes seemed to glow golden. Pretty as all hell, but… intimidating. “He’s been missing for over a month! It’s well enough time to announce it. The people _deserve to know_ ,” he repeated.

“All in favour?” Roxy asked, then raised her hand.

They won by a small majority, rather surprisingly including Cronus and Equius. Sollux didn’t count in the vote, since he wasn’t technically part of the council, but once the outcome was confirmed, he stood and bowed to Dirk.

“I can deliver a message to the press for immediate release, if you would like,” he offered. “I have errands in other parts of the city, anyway.”

Dirk nodded. “Thank you, Sollux. Tell them that the King is missing and his whereabouts are unknown, and to ask for anyone with any possible information to pass on a message to Lord Ampora.” Cronus frowned at that. “Additionally, in the King’s absence, the Crown Prince has taken the role of Prince Regent and Surrogate Ruler, and will remain as such until the King’s return.”

“I will tell them, your Highness,” Sollux said, badly lisping the double ‘S’ in ‘Highness’. Fuckin’ adorable.

“Council dismissed,” said Dirk. “We’ll resume discussions of truce after the new Queen’s coronation in Prospit.”

The members of the council shuffled off, leaving Roxy and Dirk alone with the door attendants.

“Leave us,” he told them, and once they were gone, he slumped down in his seat with his head in his hands.

“Tough crowd, huh?” Roxy said.

Dirk groaned. “I think I can understand why the King wanted to escape this hellhole,” he grumbled. “Not to mention all those fuckin’ assholes who don’t seem to care one shred for the legitimate well-being of their own homeland.”

Roxy shrugged. “Ehh, they’re just in it for the _honour and strength_!” She said the last part in a poor approximation of Equius’ drawl, puffing out her chest and pretending she was a muscled tool.

“Yeah,” Dirk looked up, but didn’t laugh or smile at Roxy’s imitation.

She deflated pretty quickly. “Whoever thought it was a good idea to have humans and trolls ruling in tandem?” she asked.

“Fuck if I know,” said Dirk, shaking his head. “Fuck. Does it make me a terrible person for wishing _our_ monarch was as dead as Prospit’s? At least then I might actually be able to _do_ anything without having to win the approval of a circle-jerking club of loaded douchebags.”

“Not _terrible_. Not an especially _great_ person, but not terrible.” She smiled. “We’re in the same boat though. I’ve wished death upon him a few times before.”

Dirk was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “Still drunk?”

Roxy frowned. “Unfortunately not. Nothin’ like a fuckin’ war council to kill your buzz.”

“Tell me about it. I wasn’t even drunk, but even so, you can consider my buzz officially laid out on the floor with its head on the other side of the fucking room. Buzz blood everywhere.”

“Buzz blood? That’s called booze, honey!”

“Whatever.” Dirk dropped his head onto his arms.

A beat of silence.

“Try get a hold of Jane this evening,” he said suddenly, voice muffled by his arms. “It’ll go more smoothly if Prospit reaches out to us. Then those fuckwad councillors won’t be able to deny Prospit’s intentions.”

“They’ll still question their motives,” Roxy pointed out. “And… Janey hasn’t been replying since like last week. Around Monday. I doubt there’s a coincidence there. Think she’s… upset?”

“About her mother’s death? Maybe. She only ever seemed to complain about her, though. Or maybe…” He sighed and lifted his head. “Maybe she doesn’t want to fraternise with Dersians now that she’s slated to become Queen within the next twenty-four hours. Let alone Dersian _royalty_.”

“Doesn’t seem to bother you, chatting up the Prospitians. Sure doesn’t bother me!” Roxy added cheerfully.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t really been doing much of that in the past month anyway, have I? Between councils, meetings with the Temple administration and attempting to get some honest-to-god sleep, I haven’t had the time or energy for frivolous socialisation.”

Roxy pulled a face. “You really need to get out more.”

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence.

“Hey…” Roxy began. “Do you ever…” She paused. She’d been meaning to bring this up for a while, but wasn’t so sure how. “Do you ever think about the twins?”

Dirk fixed her with a level gaze. It was pretty intense being on the other end of that gaze—usually he wore his shades, but in here, where the lighting was dim, there was just no need for them. Plus, their lack seemed to intimidate some of the council members with the sheer _ferocity_ of Dirk’s eyes, which was either a good thing or a bad thing. Roxy couldn’t decide which.

“I’ve been a bit preoccupied,” he said evenly. “But I suppose they cross my mind from time to time.”

Roxy fidgeted. “It’s just that… I was in the Temple, the other day. Just fucking around, you know, reading old prophecies… and I thought I might as well read up on The Seer and The Knight. You know. _That_ prophecy.”

“Yes,” said Dirk, still staring at her, as if trying to gauge where she was headed with this line of conversation. “The prophecy supposedly about our long lost siblings.”

“Well… yeah. But there’s that one line that says, ‘when years match months, and days align / once more shall they cross the line’. And… it just suddenly clicked! You know? There are twelve months in a year, right? And it’s been twelve years almost to the day since…”

“Rox,” Dirk interrupted. “It’s just a prophecy.”

“But prophecies are always right!” Roxy insisted. “Anyone who’s ever tried to deny the correctness of a prophecy always ends up humiliated by the sheer amount that that prophecy was one hundred percent _fuckin’ accurate._ Just listen! It’s been twelve years almost to the day, which means the number of years matches the number of months in a year, the days are almost the same. It makes sense! And what do you think ‘crossing the line’ means? It means coming back to Derse! It has to!”

Dirk was quiet for a moment. Then he stood. “If they’re not dead, then maybe you’re right. But that doesn’t help our situation in the slightest. And it doesn’t help for us… for _you_ to get your hopes up.” Without another word, he swept out of the room, the door banging shut behind him.

Roxy was left sitting at the end of the hardwood table, her back to the door, alone in the patchy lighting of the council chambers. She sighed.

TG: what a party pooper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roxy is great. I love Roxy. It is fun to write Roxy. I love her. She is so great.
> 
> Fun fact: Some of Roxy's typos were legit on my part. For example, every instance of the word 'tirade'. :T


	3. New Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dave knew that the amount of times he’d wholly and blindly put his trust in Rose had to mean something to her. This was one of the few times—one of the only times—where he was asking for her to do the same in return._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, but hopefully the content will make up for that. Also... the next chapter is nearly half again as long as this one, so.

“Tell me you’re just fucking with me,” said Dave.

“I’m afraid I’m being perfectly serious,” Rose replied. “I’m not particularly keen on it, myself, but it’s the only way we might get in undetected.”

Dave sighed. It had been two days of hard travelling since they’d left the Temple of Light, and they were standing outside the city walls of Derse in the late dusk. Right in front of the entrance to the sewers. _That_ was Rose’s “way in.”

“So first we’re escaping through crypts, and now we’re infiltrating through fucking sewers. And why? Because you say so. Holy fuck, Rose, what are we even doing here?”

Rose frowned. “We’re going to enter the city, and then we’re going to present ourselves to the crown.”

“To the…” Dave blinked uncomprehendingly. “To the _crown_? Smelling like a sewer—literally?! Have you lost your fucking mind?” He threw his hands up. “Why the fuck would the crown even be interested in seeing us?”

“Lower your voice,” Rose hissed. “Or you’ll get us shot. There are lookouts all the way along the wall.” She shot him a sharp look. “Whether or not you can bear to get your feet a little bit wet, I’m going anyway. So you can either stand here ranting and raving on your own or you can shut up and follow me.” Her expression softened. “Trust me, it’ll all work out fine.”

She turned and jumped down into the sewers.

Dave opened his mouth to argue, but ultimately just rolled his eyes and followed her. As he’d known he inevitably would—and more relevantly, as _she’d_ known he would.

“Smells like shit in here,” he groused, pulling his shirt up over his nose.

“It is a sewer after all.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.”

They started forward through the tubular tunnel, sloshing through something wet and not quite watery that Dave didn’t want to think about too much. As they travelled deeper, the darkness enveloped them so completely that even when Dave pushed his shades up onto his head, he could just barely see Rose’s outline a few feet in front of him.

After what felt like a day, but was probably only really an hour or two, they emerged through a manhole into the darkened streets of Derse. Night had fallen completely, and the city—or at least this part of the city—was quiet.

Dave had never smelled air so fresh. Or, at least, that’s how it felt after spending hours in a sewer. He could smell smoke and steel on the air: compared to the fetid stench of the sewers, it was like walking into an aromatic bathhouse.

“You owe me new shoes,” were the first words out of Dave’s mouth once they had both inhaled their fill of clean-ish oxygen.

Rose laughed, looking as relieved as Dave felt. “Of course. As soon as—”

“ _Hey!_ You there!” came a booming voice from behind. They whipped around to see a patrol officer in midnight purple uniform brandishing a nightstick at them. “Get away from that manhole!”

Dave felt Rose’s grip on his forearm, and looked up to see her face full of fear. “Run!” she yelped.

He didn’t need telling twice. Together, they took off, their shit-saturated shoes squelching and not getting the best traction on the smooth obsidian footpath. Jesus—they were literally leaving footprints; running was practically redundant. They could hear the officer take pursuit behind them, shouting into his voice-operated comms device for backup in apprehending “two suspicious adolescent figures.”

Neither Dave nor Rose dared to look back as they veered off the street and down a narrow alleyway, then through and out onto the other side. Another patrol officer was waiting for them across the street, and when he spotted them he flicked his baton to its full length and started towards them, yelling, _“_ Stop _, now_!!”

They didn’t stop. They simply wheeled around and kept running, following an empty winding street with no side-alleys in sight for them to duck into. It looked like they were approaching a dead end—no! It was a T intersection.

_There’s an obvious solution to this_ , Dave thought. He called to Rose, “We have to split up!”

Rose shook her head—as best she could whilst running full pelt, anyway. “We can’t!”

“We have to! We’ll never lose them, otherwise.”

“There are too many of them! They’ll chase us both down.”

“Just trust me!”

Dave knew that the amount of times he’d wholly and blindly put his trust in Rose had to mean something to her. This was one of the few times—one of the _only_ times—where he was asking for her to do the same in return.

She nodded.

“You go left,” Dave told her, and when they reached the intersection they peeled off in opposite directions.

Dave pulled himself around the corner and flattened his body against the cold bricks. He looked back to make sure Rose kept running.

She did. Good girl.

The patrol officers—there had to be, what, four of them? Shouted orders to each other as they drew closer. Dave’s left hand went to his right hip, where his sword was scabbarded.

Just as the officers came into view, finally seeming to have organised themselves (two left, two right, the idiots), he leapt out with sword in hand, swiping a red ribbon across the first officer’s torso.

_“HERE!”_ he roared, effectively gaining the attention of the two other officers, one of whom continued after Rose, the other doubling back to provide support to his comrades.

_Three against one? Noobs._

Back at the Temple, Dave had been able to lay an entire group of disciples flat on their backs with just a wooden practice sword. With a real sword (cheap and unbalanced though it might be) he had no doubt that he could take down at _least_ two of these highly professional, trained officers, armed only with expandable batons.

Before the third officer was even in range, Dave was able to block a swing from the second, smoothly twisting his blade and disarming the patroller. And while he stood there looking surprised, Dave kicked the guy’s feet out from under him. His head hit the pavement with a nauseating _crack_ , and later Dave would hope he hadn’t inflicted any permanent damage.

As the third officer finally reached him, swinging at him in a wide arc, the first seemed to recover enough from the shallow wound across his chest to aim a jab at Dave’s ribs. It was easy enough for Dave to grab a firm hold of the baton aimed at his ribs and yank it hard enough to unbalance its wielder, pulling the officer forward and directly into the path of his comrade as Dave skipped backwards and out of the way.

Before Dave could see the outcome of this cunning move, an impact between his shoulder blades sent him sprawling face-first onto the smooth pavement. He scrambled around into a sitting position, angry at himself for allowing someone to sneak up on him.

He froze dead when he was greeted with a double-barrelled gun barely an inch from his face.

“One move,” growled a deep, scratchy voice from behind the gun. “And you’re dead.”

It was such a horribly cliché line, Dave almost wanted to laugh. But he had the distinct feeling that the owner of the voice—and more importantly, the _gun_ —wouldn’t find it so amusing.

“Drop the sword, boy,” the voice ordered. Dave obeyed, peeling his stiff fingers from the sword’s sweat-sticky hilt. He heard the clashing of metal scraping and bouncing across stone as it was kicked away from him.

Dave didn’t take his eyes off the barrels of the gun, like two sinkholes-for-eyes staring him straight in the face. He’d never seen a gun close-up before, and he’d certainly never imagined his first time examining one so closely would be in such a… such a _real_ situation. He felt a little lightheaded.

“Good,” said the voice softly—about as softly as such a gravelly voice can manage, anyway.

The gun became a blur of movement. After a skull-splitting _thwack_ to the side of his head, Dave was lying on his side, watching his fingers twitch as an oily blackness encroached on the edges of his vision.

_Rose had better have fucking gotten away_ , he thought to himself as everything faded.

 

“Wake up.”

Holy fuck, his head hurt.

“Hey, wake up!”

What… what was he doing again? Where was he? What was his name?

And what the fuck was that godawful smell?

“Wake the fuck up, you insolent piece of shit!”

Dave’s eyes snapped open, and as they did, his head gave a twinge of protest. Light. Everywhere. He flinched. Why the fuck wasn’t he wearing his shades?

He lifted a shaking hand to shield his eyes.

“What… where…” His mouth felt as if he’d just participated in a tissue-paper eating competition. Why anyone would ever hold such a thing, he had no idea, but his mouth was dry and his throat was kicking up one hell of a scratch.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re confused and half-conscious. I fucking get it. Hurry the fuck up and get fully conscious so you can get rid of those putrid-smelling shoes, okay? They smell like something that crawled out of a fucking sewer, died, and then shat itself.”

A sewer? Why did that…

A sewer!

Suddenly, he was wide awake, sitting bolt upright. He was… on a train? How the fuck did he get on a train? A metal cuff on his left wrist chained him to the wall. In front of him were rows upon rows of both trolls and humans, chained—like him—to either the wall under the window, or the arm of the seat. He kept am arm up to shield his eyes as he looked towards the window, but the brightness and the shuddering hundred-miles-an-hour movement meant he couldn’t see much more than a grey and brown blur. Looking at it made him want to puke.

He turned to his right, where an unfamiliar troll sat, arms crossed, glowering at him. His right arm was chained to the arm of the bench seat they shared. He wasn’t fully matured, that much Dave could tell, but the troll’s eyes had started to fill with a sort of reddish pigment. A rustblood, then, he supposed.

The troll raised an eyebrow as Dave surveyed him. “Never seen _that_ eye colour on a human before,” he noted.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dave retorted grumpily. “Where the fuck am I?”

The troll rolled his eyes. “Get rid of those fucking shoes and maybe I’ll tell you.”

Dave looked down at his feet. On the darkened streets of Derse, he hadn’t been able to see the full extent of the damage to his shoes, but in the daylight streaming through the windows of the train, he could see that they were _completely_ ruined. Not a little ruined, not sort of ruined: completely. They’d been light grey. Now they were a sort of ashy, sludgy, black-brown. And the stench was nigh fucking unbearable.

Gingerly, Dave pulled off both the shoes and his socks, opened the window as far as it could go (and as best he could, not being able to look directly at it), and shoved the shoes through the gap. He was pretty sure he left filthy mud/shit marks on the window, but with all the discomfort he was in he could have hardly cared less.

“Fucking finally. Here.”

Dave turned back to the troll, who was offering him a pair of standard, military-issue socks and boots. “Guards left them for you.”

“Thanks,” Dave muttered, pulling them on—albeit a little awkwardly, considering the space restraint and the manacle on his left arm. “They didn’t happen to leave me a pair of shades, did they?”

The troll shook his head.

“Fuck,” Dave hissed. “Of course they didn’t.”

He was pretty sure his brain was about to jackhammer its way out of his head, and his eyeballs felt like they’d been lightly seared and served in a fucking casserole. He put a hand up to his temple. It came away bloody. He stared at his fingers for a moment, trying to put the shreds of his memory together. Running, splitting up from Rose, fighting those patrol assholes, the dude with the gun…

He looked around the train, but of the humans and trolls, men and women (boys and girls) he could see, he couldn’t spot Rose’s blonde hair. So unless she was in a different car, she hadn’t been captured.

Dave let himself be relieved for a moment, wiping the blood on his already-filthy shirt and turning back to the troll, who was still watching him with a hostile expression fixed firmly in place.

“So where is this?”

“A train,” the troll replied blankly.

“Fucking really.”

“Drafting train,” he elaborated. “We’re headed to Skaia. To fight for Derse.” He said ‘Derse’ with enough disgust for Dave to think there was probably a story there. But he was a bit too wrapped up in his own personal dilemmas to give much of a shit at the moment. “It’s one of the more recent decrees, from a few months ago or something, that all criminals convicted of minor offenses be pressed into service rather than clogging up prison space or having to be executed with the city’s own resources.” He turned and spat onto the floor of the aisle, which would have been gross, except for the fact that the floor looked to be covered in all manner of gross shit already. “Of course, a ‘conviction’ doesn’t even require a trial anymore. Anyone in any violation of any laws, rules, or regulations whatso-fucking-ever is immediately shipped off to fight a war they shouldn’t have anything to fucking well do with.” Alright, the dude was definitely bitter about something. That was his prerogative, Dave supposed. It wasn’t like he wasn’t equally pissed off—this was _not_ the situation he’d wanted to find himself in.

“So how’d you get caught?” Dave ventured.

“None of your fucking business,” the troll snapped.

“I snuck into the city through the sewers,” Dave explained. The troll raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. “Patrol officers started chasing me. Turned to fight. Took down at least two, but then some asshole with a gun showed up and knocked me the fuck out.” He purposefully didn’t mention Rose. It didn’t feel safe to, somehow. It wasn’t like he was necessarily lying by not mentioning her, anyway.

“That explains why your shoes were so gross,” the troll said.

Dave sighed. The rush of air made his head twinge. Honestly, there was nothing he could do that _didn’t_ make his head twinge. “Yeah. I’m Dave, by the way.”

“Karkat,” said the troll. He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I tried to sneak into the city, too. Except I was a fucking moron and tried the front gates. Got caught. Didn’t even get the chance to fight them, and even if I had it’s not like I would have been able put up much of a fight. So I went quietly like a legless fucking wiggler and… now I’m here.”

“Tough shit,” said Dave. “Man, they’re really serious about their security, huh?”

Karkat shrugged. “The King has been missing for a month and they’re fighting a war on two fronts. As much as I’d like to—and trust me, I would abso-fucking-lutely love to—I can’t honestly say I blame them.”

Dave and Rose had heard the announcement about the King from a passing news vendor whilst on the road. Rose had seemed unsurprised by the news, and Dave just plain old hadn’t given a shit, but in retrospect, he probably should have realised how much more difficult it would make entry into the city. And Rose had wanted an _audience_ with the crown—with the King missing, would they even let anyone near the palace? How was Rose planning to achieve that?

After a pause, Dave said, “I guess _we’re_ the ones about to be fighting a war on two fronts.”

“I guess we are. Fuck” Karkat said gravely.

“Yeah,” Dave agreed. “Fuck.”

DAVE: you owe me new shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much profanity. Two years ago, I would have felt uncomfortable about using so much swearing, but now I'm just completely desensitised to it. Huh.
> 
> Well, anyway, I'm happy to finally be able to add Karkat to the character tags. :D
> 
> Next chapter:  
> \- pesterlogs  
> \- cute boys  
> \- SLs
> 
> stay tuned


	4. Not the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dirk heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, flopping back against the overly-plush pillows of his bed. This past month, it was getting harder to gauge who was and who wasn’t his friend, and honestly, he was sick to death of not knowing who to trust._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incoming: a veritable wall of pesterlogs.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] \--  
  
TT: Jane. I know you’ve been getting these messages.  
TT: And I know you’ve been reading them. You’re not so rude as to completely ignore the Prince Regent of Derse.  
TT: You’re certainly not so rude as to completely ignore a friend.  
TT: ...  
TT: Whatever game you think you’re playing, upholding some sort of duty to your kingdom, it doesn’t matter. We don’t solely need to communicate via formal messengers. Sure, it’s best if all of the crown and state’s official correspondence goes through the correct channels, but that doesn’t mean we can’t interact informally.  
TT: Or, fuck, whatever, we can make this as formal as you want to, now that you’re Queen and I’m Prince Regent.  
TT: The truth is, we’re both just kids in charge of kingdoms. It’s a fuckin’ chore for the both of us, not to mention a life sentence. I doubt my father will return any time soon, if ever.  
TT: What’s more, though, Jane, is that we have the same goal. We both want a truce, don’t we? Who gives a shit if it’s temporary or not, it’s what we want and what we need and we both know it.  
TT: Are you worried about the backlash you might face if it were ever discovered that you’ve been internet friends with Dersian royalty for the majority of your formative years?  
TT: I have a script running on my module that completely wipes my chat logs with any IP situated outside the walls of Derse if anyone but me tries to access them. I can send it to you. Personalised for your purposes, of course. It’ll require a bit of set up but it’s nothing complicated.  
TT: ...  
TT: Come the fuck on, Jane. It’s not like we have some sort of illicit cyber-relationship. We’re just friends.   
TT: Aren’t we?

Dirk heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, flopping back against the overly-plush pillows of his bed. This past month, it was getting harder to gauge who was and who wasn’t his friend, and honestly, he was sick to death of not knowing who to trust. He just wanted this war to be _over_. If not completely, then at _least_ between Derse and Prospit. He just needed Jane—the newly coronated _Queen_ of Prospit—to respond to his god damn messages so they could flesh out a way to get the truce-ball rolling.

But she hadn’t been replying to his messages in over a week, and while part of him was a little worried, most of him was just pissed off and frustrated. Not so much at her—he didn’t have the heart to get truly angry at someone he, for now, considered a friend.

TT: Fine. Not replying to me is your prerogative.  
TT: If you decide you want to do this the foolproof way, let me know. I’ll stop bothering you, otherwise.  
TT: Or, fuck, if you’ve decided you hate everything about Derse and want to see it destroyed, let me know that, too, okay? So that I at least know who my friends are and who my enemies are with some certainty beyond “maybe, maybe not.”  
TT: Just give me something, for fuck’s sake. We’re in roughly the same boat here, Jane.  
TT: I’m trying to cast a line your way. Don’t leave it floating there. Either take it, or fucking set it alight.  
TT: Give me something to work with.  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] \--  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--  
  
TT: Have you managed to get any response out of Jane?  
TT: no :(  
TT: shes still bein miss zuipperpips  
TT: Fuck.  
TT: hav u tried talkin to her?  
TT: Multiple times. All to no avail, of course.  
TT: Fuck! Why does it have to be a federal fucking issue to do absolutely fucking anything lately?  
TT: :(:(:(  
TT: cuz our dads an ass and the councillors are all assii  
TT: thats the new official plural for ass  
TT: assii  
TT: like lusii  
TT: but with butts  
TT: What about Jake?  
TT: he responds sometimes  
TT: kinda clipped responses tho  
TT: like hes all distant and w/e and it jus makes me sad :(  
TT: like theres somethin he dont wanna tell me   
TT: but he also does wanna tell me  
TT: but he doesnnt wanna tell me because hes worried about my reaction or somethig???  
TT: idk   
TT: have u talked to him?  
TT: ud probs get more out of him than me  
TT: I have not.  
TT: diiiiirrrk  
TT: you should  
TT: hes worried abut u :(  
TT: becuz i told him how much of a MASSIVE FUCKEN STRESS BUBBLE u turned into lately!!!!!  
TT: why cldnt u come 2 my room to talk to me dirk im just sittin here all on my lonesum :’(  
TT: im not even drunk jus a teensy bit topsy  
TT: *tipsy  
TT: and topsy too lmao  
TT: tipsy topsy  
TT: turvey  
TT: tuvey wurvy  
TT: hey if u come here ill share w/ u   
TT: u need to chill out more :)  
TT: I’d rather not.  
TT: diiiiiirrrkk   
TT: mr princey poo  
TT: mr stress in a bottle  
TT: its not like theres anythin left to do today its like fukn 9 pm  
TT: aka the PERF TIME 2 GET HAMMARD  
TT: *hammered heheheh but hammard works too  
TT: No, you’re right. I should at least try talking to Jake. If he can’t give me some insight as to the state of the kingdom, he can at least let me know if Jane’s holding up.  
TT: And if not that... he can at least tell me how HE’S doing.  
TT: yeah :)  
TT: I’ll do that I guess.  
TT: ok  
TT: an then  
TT: after dat  
TT: u shuld  
TT: come get drunk w/ me   
TT: wonk ;)  
TT: ...  
TT: I’ll consider it.  
TT: WOOP!  
TT: dats me celebratin  
TT: WOOOOOP GONNA GET PRINCE REAGENT DRUNK 2NITE!!!  
TT: On second thought...  
TT: ok ok sorry ill be srs  
TT: gon get u   
TT: totes   
TT: fukn  
TT: smaaaaaaashed  
TT: If you say so.  
TT: oh but i do :3  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--

Dirk hadn’t been looking forward to having to talk to Jake. But at the same time, he’d been almost _desperate_ to talk to him in all the time that there’d been silence between them. It wasn’t any one thing in particular… well. It was. Their last conversation had been civil enough, almost friendly, but thanks to Dirk’s internal overreaction, the whole thing had become a far bigger spiral of _a big fucking deal_ in his mind. He’d single-handedly driven a one-sided wedge between himself and Jake, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to remove it.

Basically, it was his own fucking fault that their internet friendship had gone pear-shaped, and now Dirk was reluctant to deal with it on top of the million other things he currently had to deal with. It was just easier to shunt it to the side and ignore the pressing feeling of anxiety whenever it surfaced in his mind (which was too often for comfort) so that he could actively deal with what was in front of him, but it seemed that now in order to get to what he considered to be one of the biggest issues currently piled on his plate, he needed to at least arbitrarily deal with _this_ issue. Like breaking through a firewall.

_You’re the Prince Regent of Derse_ , he told himself. _Stop being such a big baby and just fucking do it._

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--  
  
TT: Hey.  
TT: You aren’t gonna pull a Jane on me now, are you?  
GT: Oh! Hello there strider.  
GT: I must say i really wasnt expecting a message from you this evening!  
TT: No? Well... I guess I wasn’t initially intending to message you. I’ve fallen into a bit of a rut you might be able to help me out of, though.  
GT: Is that so?  
GT: This... doesnt happen to have anything to do with my cousin does it?  
GT: Or... her illustrious majesty i suppose she should be called now!!  
TT: Or your betrothed.  
GT: Yes i... suppose theres that too.  
GT: But im sure youre not here to discuss the right gallimaufry that is my family tree now are you?  
TT: Not so specifically.  
GT: My goodness dirk it really has been a while since weve spoken. We really ought to catch up!  
GT: Although i suppose youve been a very busy man lately. What with your king skedaddling away and leaving you in charge of one sincere mess of a kingdom.  
GT: No offense to your kingdom of course! I dare say our own late monarch has gone and done very much the same thing.  
GT: Albeit with less skedaddling and more... well...  
TT: Dying?  
GT: Yes. I suppose so.  
TT: How did that even happen, by the way?  
TT: The only news we got here was from Sollux, who simply told us she was dead. Nothing more.  
GT: Is that so?  
GT: Why i do believe theyve not yet determined the cause of death at the present time...  
GT: But, er... well. I probably shouldnt be talking about this.  
GT: If janes not talking to you shed probably have my hide to know that ive been twattling to you about every goings on in prospit!  
GT: I am dreadfully sorry of course.  
TT: It’s fine. I understand.   
TT: We may be friends, but nationally and politically speaking, we’re the fuckin’ archest of enemies.  
TT: Speaking of Jane, do you know exactly why she’s decided to start ignoring me and Roxy?  
TT: She can’t seriously be suddenly concerned about fraternising with the enemy.  
GT: Im afraid i really just dont know! She is awfully stressed out about this balderdash with the coronation and taking over the kingdom and all. Which i suppose she has every right to be.  
TT: Naturally. I understand how she feels completely.  
TT: Which, honestly, is part of why I’m so pissed off.  
GT: *Please* dont get angry dirk. Its not her fault.  
TT: I’m more pissed off at our respective situations than at her, although I do wish she would understand how much more there is to be gained if the two of us were to work together rather than keeping such formal distance.  
GT: Politics really are complete bosh sometimes now arent they?  
TT: They’re a fuckin’ rigmarole.  
GT: Poppycock soaked in hogwash!!  
TT: Baloney dragged over a bull’s clenched anus.  
GT: Ewww!!  
TT: Sorry. I’m just pretty fuckin’ passionate about the level to which this entire situation is comprised of senseless bullshit.  
TT: And it’s up to me to unravel some of these layers of slimed-up fucking foolishness and try and make sense of it all. Clean it up and try to present it to the world in a way that won’t ultimately fuck everything up even further.  
GT: Oh daddles dirk.  
GT: Youre not completely alone though! Im sure once jane has settled into her role as queen the two of you will be working together with more cohesiveness and efficiency than the coen brothers.  
GT: And boy have they made some great motion pictures together!!  
TT: I can only hope.  
TT: Just... at least remind her that we want to end the hostility between our kingdoms as much as she does. If that IS what she still wants.  
GT: Of course it is!  
TT: Good.  
GT: Its what we all want. By jove dirk this war has been wearying enough for both kingdoms. Its high time it was put to rest.  
TT: At least so that we can address far more pressing issues.  
TT: Like, you know, the unending army of demons pouring out of the Furthest Ring.  
GT: *Shivers in fear!*  
GT: Yes indeed. My goodness thats a hell of a thing to think about.  
GT: Sometimes it really seems as if the end times are upon us.  
TT: Let’s just hope that’s not the case.  
TT: If we form some sort of temporary truce to combine our forces until the Furthest Ring goes quiet again, THEN we can start to excogitate some more permanent form of alliance.  
TT: Hopefully by that point I’ll be king.  
GT: Golly!  
GT: Arent you at all concerned about your father?  
TT: Should I be? He’s part of the reason we’re in this mess. Part of the reason I’M in this mess. He buried the city in a stinkin’ pile of horse shit, gave me the only shovel and then fucked off into the sunset like the literal piece of fuckin’ trash he is.  
TT: He was never much of a father, anyway.  
GT: Im sorry to hear that. My own father was also somewhat of a scallywag unfortunately. Although he wasnt the king.  
TT: What happened?  
GT: He lost all of his money in a gamble then drank himself silly and froze to death on the outskirts of the city one winter.  
GT: I was about ten i think.  
TT: Wow. I’m sorry, I had no idea.  
GT: Ahhhh it was a long time ago. Near on a decade in fact.  
TT: Even so.  
GT: I say! Our conversation thus far has been exceedingly dreary! Why dont we catch up right now if you have the time? Talk about something a bit nicer.  
TT: Sure.  
TT: I have no “duties” to attend to for the moment, thank fuck.  
GT: Roxys been telling me all about these duties youve been navigating.  
GT: I think shes worried about you!  
GT: I also think shes been spending most of her time half rats... which is worrying.  
TT: Half-rats? More like full-rats. I really need to do something about how easy it is for her to get her hands on the happy juice.

At the sharp knock on his door, Dirk’s head snapped up. Pulling himself into a sitting position and minimising the chat module, he called out, “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, your Highness, but there’s a young girl demanding an audience with you. She claims to be a seer,” called an attendant on the other side of the door.

A Seer? What did a Seer want with him at this hour?

“Tell her to come back tomorrow,” he snapped. Regardless of whether or not she really was a Seer, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with more kingdom personnel today. Not to mention—it was getting pretty damn late for someone to be begging an audience with him. What was up with that? The guards should have turned her away at the door.

“She insists it’s rather urgent, your Highness,” the attendant persisted. “She said… well, she said you would want to see her.”

_She was fucking well wrong about that._ “Fine,” Dirk sighed. “I’ll receive her in the minor hall.” The minor hall was usually where he received diplomats and religious figures, and the occasional noble or courageous plebeian petitioning for something-or-other. Basically, it was where he met with people who wanted something from him—a rectangular, high-ceilinged room with an elevated desk and chairs at the end for Dirk and up to two senior councillors to sit at. Like a panel, of sorts.

He waited until the attendant’s footsteps had faded away before he stood to leave the room. Opening up his chat client again, he shot Roxy a quick message.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--  
  
TT: If you’re not too drunk, come receive a “Seer” in the minor hall with me.  
TT: I really, really need the fuckin’ moral support right now.  
TT: But if you are drunk then please, I’d rather you didn’t bother.  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--

Then he returned to his conversation with Jake.

GT: Simply all part of the luxuries of being a princess and living in a palace im sure!  
GT: Although i suppose i cant really claim innocence now can i? Living in the palace again...  
GT: Soon to be married...  
GT: To jane...  
GT: Who is my cousin...  
GT: And also the queen...  
GT: Goodness me. Promise not to tell another soul but i really dont think im too keen on the whole marriage shebang!  
GT: I mean its not that i dont love jane its just…  
GT: Well she *is* my cousin! We practically grew up together. Shes almost sort of like a sister to me i suppose.  
GT: Not to mention...  
GT: Im not particularly keen on being the king?  
GT: Im not like you dirk. I dont quite have the same firm stranglehold on leadership and kingdom politics that you do!

Dirk wanted to punch something. Preferably some iteration of himself. He really, sincerely wished he could continue this conversation, but…

Duty calls, as they say.

TT: I wish I could tell you something more useful than “you’ll be fine,” but I’ve just been called for a late-night audience with some jumped-up kid who thinks whatever business she has with the Prince Fucking Regent is urgent and important, so that’s really all I can offer at the moment.  
GT: I see...  
TT: So much for having no duties to attend to. Running a kingdom is a 24/7 fucking dead-end thankless job and I sincerely cannot blame you for wanting no part in it.  
TT: Fuck. I’d love to get into a ocean-deep and all hells of personal analysis of your apprehensions, but I guess the universe had other ideas.  
TT: Next time I get some honest to god time to myself, we can continue this discussion.  
TT: Sound good?  
GT: I... well yes i suppose that will have to do.  
GT: Being prince regent sure sounds like a demanding role.  
GT: And its not helping my so called “apprehensions” in the dizziest!  
GT: So i suppose until the next time we talk...  
GT: Take care of yourself yeah?

Dirk’s heart gave an almost painfully erroneous thud, and when he swallowed, his throat seemed to stick to itself.

TT: I’ll try.  
TT: You, too, man.  
GT: No problems there!  
GT: Tally ho my good chum!  
TT: Tally-ho, you fucking nerd.   
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--

Giving himself a moment to take a few breaths and compose himself into the steely kingdom figurehead he needed to be, Dirk pushed open the door to the minor hall and stepped through, his eyes immediately falling on the room’s occupants.

“Holy shit.”

Roxy had gotten there before him, seemingly dismissed the attendants, and was in the process of affectionately squeezing the life out of a girl who, despite being unfamiliar to Dirk, was undeniably their younger sister. The hair, the skin, the eyes—the way that gaze fell on him from over Roxy’s shoulder as he walked in.

Rose.

“Dirk!” Roxy relinquished her hold somewhat, holding Rose at arm’s length and turning to grin at Dirk, so wide it looked as if her face might split. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I fuckin’ tell you?! The prophecy was right! It was right!!” She was practically _buzzing_ with excitement.

“It—it seems that way,” Dirk said, at a total loss as to what he should think or feel. But something was off. “What about…”

“That’s what I’ve come here to talk to you about,” Rose said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was calm and even, every word chosen carefully. She was every bit the precocious four-year-old Dirk had so few but such vivid memories of, just… twelve years older, he supposed. “Other than the family reunion, of course. While it is nice to be… ‘home’, in a sense, if the situation was different I wouldn’t have insisted on seeing you at such a late hour.”

“What is it?” Roxy asked, voice hushed. She didn’t look quite so excited anymore. She still had her hands on Rose’s shoulders, possessively keeping in physical contact with her as if she were afraid Rose would disappear again if she let go. But her expression eked concern: no doubt she, too, had noticed what was off.

“Dave,” Rose said, striking right at the heart of the matter—the proverbial elephant in the room, really. “As we entered the city, we were chased down by patrol officers. We split up, but I worry that he might have tried to fight them to give me an opportunity to get away.” She took a deep breath, and it shuddered slightly as she exhaled. “I don’t know where he is now.”

Dirk nodded, biting his lip. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, it’s not a big deal. Hopefully he didn’t get hurt—” Dirk wished he knew whether or not that was likely, but he really couldn’t claim to know Dave at all. It was sad, really, that he didn’t know his father and he didn’t know his own younger brother and sister; his family was truly and irreconcilably fucked up. “—but locating him shouldn’t be too big a deal. I can send a runner down to the lower city with a message for the city guard.”

“Dirk,” said Roxy, voice hushed. “What about the recruiters?”

Dirk froze in the action of summoning an attendant via a module in his circlet. “Shit,” he hissed. “That makes things trickier. But not impossible.”

“Recruiters?” Rose questioned.

“Recruiters,” Dirk sighed. “One of the last laws the King decreed before he vanished was that any able-bodied citizen convicted of a minor crime should be pressed into military service and sent to fight at Skaia. It’s bullshit, because his definition of ‘convicted’ was ‘arrested’, which means anyone who so much as sticks a single toe out of line. Not only did he doom practically the entire lower castes of the city, but he gave the patrol officers and the guard force far too much power than they know what to do with. There are perfectly innocent people being dumped on those trains just because they looked the wrong way at a patrol officer.” He ran a hand through his hair and then crossed his arms. “And yet, since he’s not technically dead, and I’m not technically King, overruling the decree is a whole big fucking process with far more complications than should be universally legal.”

“Also, the councillors of Derse are all complete jerkoffs,” Roxy added.

“I see,” Rose said grimly. She locked eyes with Dirk. “How will we know if he’s been pressed into service?”

“If the guard forces are feeling cooperative tonight, then we should know before midnight. If not? Well. The train leaves at dawn.”

An attendant popped his head through the door. “You wanted something, your Highness?”

“Yes,” Dirk turned to him. “Deliver a message to the guardhouse in the lower city immediately: we believe they may have apprehended a boy with blonde hair, pale skin—”

“—And dark sunglasses,” Rose broke in. “He fights with a sword and his shoes were soiled. And in the event that he’s lost his glasses… he has scarlet eyes.”

Dirk remembered those eyes. They were even more unnerving than his own, and yet in such a young face they had seemed so clear and innocent. He wondered what Dave looked like now. With any luck, it wouldn’t be long until he found out.

Wow, that was a weird thought. Less than two days ago he’d been willing to dismiss the notion that the twins would ever return, willing to write them off as ‘probably dead’. Now he knew they were alive, with one a few feet away from him and the other possibly about to be shipped off to Skaia to fight in a war he shouldn’t have to have anything to do with. To Dirk, it kind of felt like… one weight lifted, and another dropped. A different kind of weight.

The attendant bowed, muttered, “At once, your Highness,” and then was gone.

“What if we can’t find him before the train leaves?” Roxy asked, her voice hushed.

“Well then… we’ll just have to contact HQ at Skaia,” said Dirk. “Tell them that as soon as he gets off that train, they need to put him right back on it and send him home.”

TT: Let’s just hope that’s not the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in my most recent read through of Homestuck (AKA my first time looking at it in like 3 years), I didn't really care at all about the shipz until I reached Act 6 and was promptly reintroduced to DirkJake.  
> And now I've inadvertently created a Romeo+Juliet-esque situation.  
> Actually it's more like Romeo + Tybalt. They always had more chemistry anyway. ;)  
> (ahahaha literary jokes)
> 
>  
> 
> (its funny because Romeo kills Tybalt)  
> (dw that's not gonna be the case here)
> 
> (...or is it)


	5. The Fish Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Being a convict was hard. Being a convict was hard, and nobody understood. Except, you know, the fifty other convicts who’d gotten off the train with him. They probably understood._

After what felt like hours—and might have actually, legitimately _been_ hours—the train slowed to a grinding, squeaking halt.

Whatever low hum of chatter there might have been dissipated. Distantly, the battlefield was audible. Gunshots, inhuman snarls and screams and _human_ screams and yells and clanging and clashing—

“Fuck my life right now,” groaned Karkat. Dave was inclined to agree—his head was still killing him, and even in the shaded valley the train had pulled into, he could just barely squint enough to be able to see.

A pair of armed guards filed in through the sliding door at the front of the car. These guys looked far deadlier and far more serious than the patrol officers Dave had taken down: their uniforms, still the same Dersian midnight purple, were armoured, their faces covered by dark visors. They had at least three knives each strapped to their belts. They both toted unnecessarily large shotguns, aimed harmlessly at the floor; their fingers near the triggers nonetheless. One of them smashed his fist on a metal button by the door, and all at once, the manacles chaining everyone to their seats popped off and fell away with a series of clanks and clatters.

No one moved.

Dave glanced at Karkat. The troll was scowling, rubbing idly at his wrist and not taking his eyes off the two guards, who were haranguing prisoners out of their seats and out of the train in a single file line, starting from the front of the car. Dave and Karkat were at the very back.

They hadn’t really said more than three words to each other since their brief conversation when Dave had woken up, but Dave couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of kinship with the troll. Whether it was just that they had found themselves in roughly the same situation in roughly similar ways, or that Karkat was the only semi-friendly face in a sea of hostiles, Dave wasn’t sure. Likely he was just grasping at straws, his addled head trying and failing to make sense of this entire fucked up situation.

The guards reached them, and neither said a word as they were pulled up and pushed into line. Dave’s head pounded and his stomach lurched as he stood. He grabbed the back of the seat for support and earned himself another rough shove from the guard.

_If this is how Derse treats its_ minor _offenders_ , he thought to himself, _I don’t even want to know how they’d treat me if I, like, murdered someone_.

Hadn’t he, though? Could he be sure that those patrol officers were still alive?

He shook his head to dispel that thought—which proved to be a bad idea, prompting another wave of dizziness that almost made him lose his footing. The cold metal of the guard’s shotgun hovering between his shoulder blades, occasionally prodding him none-too-gently, was a great reason to avoid stumbling.

He kept his gaze focussed on Karkat’s bird’s-nest of hair in front of him as they approached another pair of guards at the very front of the train and were shepherded down the stairs into—

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dave hissed, involuntarily recoiling and throwing up an arm to shield his eyes. It was bright out here. _Really_ fucking bright. He didn’t know where the sun was, or were the light was coming from, or where _anything_ was, because it was too bright to even _open his god damn fucking eyes_ —

“Keep moving,” ordered one of the guards behind him, prodding him with that shotgun again. Man, Dave just couldn’t get enough guns pointed at him lately. Maybe he was just some giant electromagnet that specifically attracted fully-functioning oversized firearms wielded by uniformed douchebags. Yeah, that had to be it.

“I can’t fucking see, asshole,” he snarled. “Where are my fucking shades?”

It occurred to Dave that it probably wasn’t advisable to be snapping at said uniformed douchebags. Because of, you know, the oversized firearms. Pointed at him.

“Don’t be a princess,” the guard growled, shoving Dave’s shoulder with an open palm and making him stumble forward a few steps. “If you can’t take the heat, don’t eat the curry, kid.”

What the fuck kind of proverb was that? A shitty one. _That’s_ what.

“Cut him some slack, Gregor,” came the bored voice of another guard. “Look—the kid’s literally bleedin’ from his head.”

“So what? You do the crime; you do the time. You take the punishment, and you don’t fucking well complain about it!”

He shoved Dave again, and this time, he really did lose his footing, sprawling onto the gravel, scraping his knees and the heels of his palms.

“Wow, you really know how to inspire loyalty in the ranks!” said the second guard. The one Dave decided he liked a lot more. “You! Troll kid!” he called, as Dave pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. “Your first order of duty: being a seeing-eye troll to Mr. Sensitive here.”

“Sure,” grumbled Karkat. “Whatever.”

“Fantastic,” growled Gregor the fucking asshole of a guard. “Now you can hold hands like pansies. Fucking get moving already.”

Through his eyelashes, and under his arm, Dave could see Karkat’s scowl deepen. They didn’t hold hands, of course—Karkat just walked while Dave kept the fingertips of one hand on his shoulder, feeling far too much like an invalid for his liking.

In no time, they were close enough to the valley wall for Dave to be able to drop his arm from his face, let go of Karkat’s shoulder, and look around a little bit. The train yard wasn’t anything interesting: just a train stopped in the middle of a wide, dusty valley, the gravel ground boot-worn in some places and treacherously stone-laden in others.

The rear guards kept a close watch on the pack of minor convicts as they shuffled forward to stand before some uniformed asshole standing on a crate in front of a shoddily-constructed grey canvas tent. Judging by the golden trident strapped to her back and how much fancier her uniform was, it was fair to assume that she was higher ranked than the douchebags behind them.

As soon as they were herded in with the rest of the group, Dave made sure to put as much distance between himself and the guards as he could. Karkat followed, which was weirdly comforting. It was almost like having made a friend in hell, if hell was a dusty dead-end valley makeshift train station.

Actually? That sounded exactly like what hell would be. Dave was literally in hell right now.

“Listen up, scum suckers!” said the uniformed asshole standing on the crate. Her voice was loud and booming, and everyone immediately fell silent in some sort of… forced reverence, Dave guessed. Then, she lifted her hands to her head and removed her helmet, freeing two ankle-length black braids and revealing a mouth full of piranha-like teeth. The crowd broke out into whispers.

“That’s the Empress of Skaia!” whispered a girl near Dave.

“I feel uninformed,” he muttered to Karkat. “Who dat?”

Karkat huffed. “Meenah Peixes, Battle Commander of Derse. She’s bloodthirsty and infamous for it. That’s how she got the nickname 'Empress of Skaia.' She ‘rules the battleground’, so they say.”

Hearing that explanation and looking at those teeth, Dave decided it would be wise not to get on this chick’s bad side.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a glubbin’ gift to trolls and humans, I know,” continued the Commander. “On any other occraysion I’d fucking _love_ to hear all the great and terrible fins you have to say about me, but this ain’t no time for that.” Her grin widened, every single one of those white razors glinting. “So welcome to the war, doofishes! This is what happens when you get caught doing gillegal things.”

“What’s with the fish puns?” Dave whispered.

“Fucking seadwellers,” was all Karkat had to say on the matter, his glower growing ever more potent.

Commander Peixes’ grin faltered, her demeanour very suddenly doing a complete one-eighty and becoming serious. “Since yesterday morning, the forces of the Furthest Ring have been gettin’ closer to our command centre at the mouth of the valley. We called in backup, and here you are! This ain’t how we usually do these fins, but the situation has turned into a glubbing hullabeluga overnight and we need all the kelp we can get. Behind me is the weaprawns tent. Grab a gun, and we’ll get y’all out there in a half-hour, sound good?”

No one said anything.

“Krilliant!” the Commander flashed that deadly grin again. “Questions?”

It was silent for another moment as Peixes watched them expectantly. Then Dave thought, _aw, why the fuck not_ , and raised his hand.

“You, pink human shrimp!”

“Can I use a sword instead?”

Peixes threw her head back in a laugh. “A kid who thinks he can get down and dirty with the demons, huh? Ain’t that a fin. Shore, we got swords. We got all sorts. Take your fuckin’ pick.”

The commander stood by and watched as, one by one, the prisoners were ushered forward to retrieve a weapon—under close watch from an unnecessary number of guards. Karkat was right before Dave, who didn’t fail to notice the look of disgust the troll gave the pile of guns before choosing a smooth kingdom-issue sickle. Okay, interesting choice, but who was Dave to judge? When it was his turn, he was disappointed to find that the shiny black kingdom-issue swords were poorly balanced; the reach not nearly long enough. Man, he would have stern words with the weapons master if he had any sort of political or military clout whatsoever and wasn’t a literal fucking convict.

Being a convict was hard. Being a convict was hard, and nobody understood. Except, you know, the fifty other convicts who’d gotten off the train with him. They probably understood.

Commander Peixes shot him a wink as he traipsed past to join the growing group of armed convicts. She opened her mouth to say something to him, but was interrupted by an explosion in the direction of the valley’s mouth. Peixes’ head spun around.

“Shit!” she exclaimed. “What the fuck is Ampora _doin’_ up there?”

She took off at a run, unsheathing the double-ended trident from her back. Who needed guns when you had considerably more satisfying-to-use melee ‘weaprawns’ anyway? Fuckin’ hand-holding pansies and douchebag guards, that’s who.

“The fuck is going on there?” said Karkat on Dave’s left.

“I don’t know,” said Dave. Then he turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “Wanna find out?”

Karkat shrugged. “Why the fuck not?”

Dave clapped him on the shoulder and they took off after the Commander. He could hear yelling behind them—of others following? Of the guards trying to retain order? Either way, no one was stopping them and so on they ran.

Running reignited Dave’s headache with a vengeance, and the upward slope of the narrowing valley meant that they were right in the sunlight again (although the sun was, mercifully, behind them). However, his eyes were slowly adjusting to not being shielded; he could hardly remember what it felt like to _not_ have a headache; and as the thick black smoke became visible, the aggressive clamour of battle filling his ears, adrenaline flooded him so hard he barely even gave a shit.

As he and Karkat plunged into the smoke, one of the first things Dave saw was the Commander, fighting like an absolute madwoman. Madtroll. Madtrollwoman. Whatever: her double trident was a blur of gold as she parried and jabbed at the… the…

“Jesus _dick_ ,” Dave breathed.

He supposed these must be some of the demons of the Furthest Ring. Through the sooty air, he could see them everywhere, see people trying to fight them everywhere—guns, swords, all manner of weapons dedicated to bringing down the giant-yet-lithe, pitch-black carapaced lizard-cat things. That is honestly the only way to describe them: they were lizard-like, their long tongues lashing out at their opponents, their tails scaled and tapered, but their smooth, flowing, stalking movements had an undeniably feline grace. And those _claws_. Holy fuck, those claws—five foot-long razors of death on each foot; _not_ something you’d wanna get in the way of.

Speaking of which, as the Commander occupied herself with wrenching her trident out of the shattered carapace of one recently-slain monster, another aimed a great swipe at her exposed back. Acting on instinct, Dave leapt forward and parried the blow, quickly aiming a jab at the gap between the shell segments of the monster’s head and torso.

The demon ducked, its tongue lashing out and catching Dave a glancing blow to his throat. Holy shit, even their fucking _tongues_ were razor sharp.

“Hey, ugly!” called Karkat from behind the monster. “Over here, fuckass!”

The monster turned. Actually _turned_ , like a gullible asshole. And when it did, Dave threw himself into a dive between the monster’s legs, driving his sword hilt-deep into its underbelly. It shuddered, screeched, and started to teeter over.

“Oh, fuck!” Dave exclaimed, wrenching his sword free and only just managing to roll out of the way before the demon collapsed with a great _THWUMP_ onto the gravel.

“You good?” Karkat asked, coming over to help him up.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” replied Dave, putting a hand to his spinning head. His temple was still bleeding. That couldn’t be good. “Thanks for the assist.”

“No problem. These things are deadly and unnecessarily fucking huge, but I don’t think they’re that hard to kill.”

Dave laughed. “Who the fuck gave these things permission to be that prodigiously massive?” he said. “How fucking dare they.”

Karkat gave him a look that said, _“Right. Okay. Sure.”_

“Oi! Whitebait! Nubbs!” called the Commander, jogging over to them, having just taken out another two demons in the time that Dave and Karkat were standing around chatting. Oh, man, did Karkat’s expression go sour at _that_ nickname—admittedly Karkat’s horns _were_ pretty stubby. “Thanks for the save. Didn’t need it, but thanks, anyway. You two make promising additions to the shoal!” She grinned.

“Shoal?” Dave questioned.

“Yeah, shoal. So I have a mission for you: I need you to find Captain Ampora. He’s a glubbin’ basshole with purple hair, and this is probably all his fault, but he has a key that looks like this.” She fished around in the collar of her armour, and pulled out a silver key on a piece of string hung around her neck. “Find him, get the key, bring it to me. It’s a last resort but this is Derse’s last stand if you don’t get it. If he’s dead? Fuck him, he probably deserves it. Just get that key.”

“Where the fuck are we supposed to find him?” Karkat demanded.

“Try around the command tent?” she suggested, pointing off behind them, where the smoke was even thicker. “Now clamscray, already!”

Without another word, she ran off to rejoin the fray.

Dave and Karkat looked at each other.

“May as well do what the fish lady says,” Dave said.

“Fucking whatever,” Karkat grumbled, and they were running again, deeper into the smoke. The demons had a significant advantage over them in these conditions: they blended into the blackened air so well, it was almost impossible to see them until they were a few feet in front of you.

“Watch it!” Dave called, deflecting a claw swipe aimed at Karkat’s head, and then in one motion, decapitating the fucker. It’s head just popped right the fuck off, splattering them both with pitch-black blood that looked and smelled like oil.

“Thanks, but fuck you for getting me soaked in this shit,” Karkat growled.

“Better this shit than your own shit,” Dave said. “And by shit I mean blood. And literal shit, I guess. Wait, do trolls shit themselves when they die or is that only a human thing?”

“Shut the fuck up and keep moving!”

The command tent, when they reached it, was half collapsed and crawling with lizard-cat demons. As they approached, an explosion sent a group of at least five of the fuckers flying in ten times as many directions, splattering the ground and every troop, knight, and officer in the vicinity with oil-like blood. Huddled by the collapsed wall of the tent, peppering demons with bullets from a gaudy-looking rifle, was a basshole with purple hair.

“There!” called Karkat, pointing. He started forwards, looking back to check Dave was following. He stopped, eyes widening. “Look out!” he shouted, and with no time to turn, Dave dropped to the ground, flattening himself and swiping his sword in a blind upwards arc as he rolled onto his back.

His sword met solid carapace and simply bounced off, sending a shockwave through Dave’s arm and painfully jarring his shoulder. He managed to keep a hold on his sword, but now he was stuck on his back with the biggest demon they’d encountered yet bearing down on him, leaning forwards to slash his throat with its razor tongue.

Instead he was splattered with more pitch blood, as a sickle came out of nowhere and lopped that tongue right the fuck off.

The creature reeled, making a noise somewhere between a screech and a gurgle, blood pouring from its wide-open jaws.

Dave jumped up and jabbed it right in the chink in its armour, but it only screech-gurgled louder and recoiled, wrenching the sword out of his grasp. It swung its head low, ramming into Dave’s ribcage with all the force of a _gargantuan fucking carapaced lizard-cat demon_. As Dave fell, winded and wheezing, the monster flailed its fore-limbs in the throes of imminent death, somehow managing to strike him solidly across the head.

He crumpled to the dusty ground.

The next minute was a blur for Dave. What was that screeching? Why couldn’t he breathe? His ribs hurt… oh, _fuck,_ his head hurt even more. Man, where was he again? Jesus, _everything_ hurts, but oh god this fucking _headache_!

Why couldn’t he see straight? Why was it so dark?

Where was Rose? Oh, that must be her… Dave couldn’t tell, his vision was too confused, twisted and warped like the world’s most nauseating kaleidoscope rollercoaster. Why… why was Rose grey? What was… where was… how…

Everything snapped back into focus.

“Fuck me,” Dave groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position. Bad idea—nausea rolled over him, as turbulent and unrelenting as a storming sea.

“No thanks,” said Karkat, sounding about as cranky as always. “You good? Looked like you were spacing the fuck out, there. This is _not_ the time to be spacing out.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Dave grumbled. “ _You_ try being a fucking punching bag to some douchebag lizard-cat demon.”

“I’ll pass on that, too,” Karkat said.

“Hey, you two!” called a voice from the direction of the command tent. The dude’s accent was weird and… sort of wavy? “Whatta you doin’? Get back to fightin’!”

Karkat stood. Dave… stayed sitting, figuring he could probably take his time. _Should_ probably take his time, if he didn’t want to fall right the fuck over again. He looked over towards the guy who was talking to them.

It was the purple-headed basshole, standing a few feet away and glaring at them as he struggled to reload his rifle.

“Are you Captain Ampora?” Karkat asked.

“Who’s askin’?” the purple-haired basshole retorted disdainfully.

“No one,” replied Karkat. “Commander Peixes sent us to find you. She says this is all your fault and you deserve to die. Also, she wanted us to get some sort of key off you.”

Captain Ampora scowled. “It’s not my bloody fault!” he said defensively. “I was just mindin’ my own glubbin’ business while Horuss tested his dumb new horsey weapon.”

“Okay, I’ll let her know!” Karkat said impatiently. “Do you have the fucking key or not?”

“Yes I have the fuckin’ key!” the Captain yelled, and reached a hand up to his collar, fishing out the key-on-a-string and then yanking it off his neck. He tossed it to Karkat. “And while you’re at it, tell Meenah that she should be fuckin’ _thankin’_ me.” His eyes went to Dave, and for a moment his expression went blank. “Wait, hold on a second…”

“Didja get that key yet?”

Dave’s head swivelled (…cautiously) in the other direction. Commander Peixes, for some reason, was standing on the corpse of the immense demon Dave and Karkat had just murdered.

“If you were going to come over here anyway, why’d you send us to get it?” Karkat demanded.

Peixes shrugged. “Meh, I kinda like you two. Shrimpy Limbs and Nubs McShouty. A promising pair! Now gimme that key.”

Dave frowned slightly. Okay, so maybe he was a _little_ on the thin-n-bony side, but his limbs were pretty finely toned from sword fighting. _Not_ shrimpy.

Captain Ampora started to say something, but Peixes held up a hand as she leapt down and approached Karkat to retrieve the key. “Not one word, Eridan. Not right now.”

“Good to know there’s no dissent in the ranks of the Dersian army,” Karkat said bitterly as he dropped the key into the Commander’s proffered hand.

Commander Peixes cackled. “Good one!” Her eyes fell on Dave. “Whattaya doin’ down there, kid? Get the fuck up, there’s shit to get done.”

“Uh… sure.” The truth was, Dave still wasn’t certain that was such a good idea. His temples were pounding so hard that everything sounded vaguely muffled; the blood rushing in his ears so loud it gave him a literal fucking hearing deficit. The ocular sector of his brain seemed to be processing what he was seeing a fraction of a second slower than it was actually happening, making it nauseating to even so much as move his eyes; exhausting to keep them focussed. It was nauseating and/or exhausting to so much as move anything, really. The aching pain in his ribcage was secondary, just another thorn in his damn side to make things _that_ much harder.

But the fish lady was telling him to stand, and the fish lady was in charge of the Dersian army. Dave was still technically a convict. Who was he to disobey a direct order? So he stood up. At first, he felt totally okay—well, he still felt like shit, but no less than he had before standing up.

Then he blacked out.

DAVE: may as well do what the fish lady says

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does that count as a cliffhanger? I can't actually tell.
> 
> I like this chapter, though. Not necessarily the writing, but the hiz-haps. Honestly, the quality of the writing so far in this fic has _not_ been my best, which is possibly why I'm enjoying it so much: because I'm not obsessing over the actual writing quite so much as I do with my original projects. That's not to say I haven't been obsessing over it at all, just... not as much. Which is kinda nice. And despite _feeling_ like the overall quality probably suffers because of that, I don't actually really _care_ because I've got far more important things to care about and I started this fic as a way to avoid them, so... 
> 
> Sorry for the ramble. xD Next chapter's gonna be a long one. Longer than the current average, that is.


	6. Only Time Will Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Well I’m glad we got that out of the way,” Terezi piped up. “Now that we’ve finished discussing what_ should _have been done, can we discuss what_ has _been done?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter so far. Also, I might note, this is already the longest fanfiction I've ever written. Word count and chapter count. Yet it's only been a week. Huh. Maybe I'm updating too often. xD

**i.**

“According to our more recent reports, Derse’s efforts have been rather subdued as of late,” Kankri was saying. “Meaning… their relentless assault continues in a marginally less relentless fashion than usual.”

“Therefore, the logical course of action would be to reassign an appropriately proportioned section of the force on the Dersian front to the Furthest Ring front,” Aranea broke in.

Kankri shot her an irritated look. “Yes, on the surface that would be logical, but we cannot be certain as to _why_ Derse has seemingly withdrawn such a significant percentage of their force. I suspect that their battle commander may have realised that her efforts to overthrow the Prospitian front were overly voracious, and it is more than likely that they resultantly found their defences rather lacking in other areas.”

“Undoubtedly,” Aranea agreed, “but Derse’s tactical failings have very little to do with our own plan of action, and they should have little bearing on where we go next.”

“On the contrary,” Kankri began, holding up a single, slim finger. “Observing the mistakes of our enemies is a method to ensure that we ourselves do not make the same mistakes. Which is why, as you said, this lessening of forces on the Prospitian-Dersian front is the perfect opportunity for us to ensure that our defence on all sides—Dersian and Furthest Ring both—is sound.”

Aranea narrowed her eyes very slightly. “Yes,” she said. “I agree.”

Jane held back a sigh. She trusted in all her advisors’ judgement, of course, but the passive-aggression between Kankri and Aranea was already starting to grate on her—most often, they were arguing the same point in their own overly verbose, roundabout ways.

Nearly two weeks ago, when her mother—the late Queen—had passed away, the Circle had been automatically dismissed. It was customary for each newly-anointed Queen (or King) of Prospit to construct their own Circle of advisors in the days prior to and weeks following her (or his) coronation. Jane had been grateful for the chance, and had worked closely with her most trusted friends and family to build a balanced Circle, combining intellectuals, politicians, battle experts, social experts, and with a customary dash of religion. Jane was quite pleased with her council, and considered most of the members good friends, to boot. That, of course, didn’t mean that they were all the best of friends with each other.

The thought hit her with a twinge of guilt. She really ought to get back to Dirk…

“Well I’m glad we got that out of the way,” Terezi piped up. “Now that we’ve finished discussing what _should_ have been done, can we maybe discuss what _has_ been done?”

Aranea opened her mouth, but Jane was quick to beat her to the punch. “Good idea. Terezi, would you care to enlighten us?”

Terezi grinned and stood, producing a printout from her pocket. “According to Commander Vriska, Derse’s renewed efforts on the Prospitian-Dersian battlefront as of late have forced Prospit to give ground to preserve our forces on both fronts. Obviously, we cant afford to weaken the Furthest Ring battlefront, and we can’t afford to allow too many losses on the Dersian front. Naturally, we can’t allow Derse to get _too_ close to us, and so Vriska’s read of the situation was that the most pertinent course of action would be to apply the recent backup forces to the Dersian front to try and regain some ground while they’re so apparently distracted.”

There were murmurs from around the roundtable, some of approval and some of dissent.

“And so we remain at an impasse,” Jane sighed.

“Would it really have done so much harm to just let Derse have the… ground, I guess, or whatever?” said John, speaking up for the first time since the roundtable’s commencement. “I mean, as somewhat of a gesture of goodwill or something if we’re going to be discussing a truce with them.” John was the youngest in the Circle, after his sister, Jade (both of them half-siblings to Jane), and there had been whisperings of disapproval from some of the older members when Jane had chosen them for the Circle. Quiet accusations of nepotism had reached Jane’s ears, but she’d shaken them off. Having grown up with John and Jade—and _watched_ them grow up—she knew them to be precocious and honest and able to read situations well. Plus, she trusted them, and she thought that to be a very important feature of any member of the Circle. If that was nepotism, then fine, Jane was a nepotist. Big deal—not!

Jade nodded her enthusiastic agreement. “Yeah! After all, the most important thing about a truce is if the forces themselves are able to work together, right? If there’s still animosity between them, there’s every possibility that it could break out into fighting, anyway.”

Jane hummed. “It’s true that the armies themselves aren’t likely to be particularly pleased with the idea of working together… but that’s another issue entirely.”

“I dare say,” said Jake, on Jane’s immediate left, “that the the only perspectives we really have about what’s happening at Skaia are distant, at best. In this case, Commander Vriska’s report is the only actual intel.”

Kanaya, across the table, next to Terezi, nodded solemnly. “It is certainly always best never to make concrete judgements without seeing the full picture in front of you.”

Terezi smirked. “I’m going to go ahead and exempt myself from needing to _see_ the full picture.”

A titter of laughter went around the table.

“But all the same,” she continued, “I agree that we don’t and can’t know the full story, but with that sort of attitude, we might as well not even discuss what’s happening at Skaia. And discussing things is kind of our job.”

“To an extent,” said Aranea. “It is also our job to ultimately and unanimously decide which course of action is beneficial not just for our army, but for our people—for our city.”

Kankri coughed. “However,” he said. “We cannot reach such a conclusion without extensive discussion—especially not a unanimous one, as we all have our own individual natural inclinations towards certain paths of actions. So, really, detailed discussions are the only way for us to discuss which paths of action are likely to be most fortuitous, and ultimately whittle down our possible decisions to a single unrefuted strand.”

“Uhh,” said Tavros, a little further back from the table than most everyone else—the arms of his wheelchair just didn’t fit. “Isn’t that exactly what Aranea just said?”

Terezi spoke again before Kankri could argue. “The decisions aren’t all in our hands, though. In fact, they aren’t really in _our_ hands, at all, they’re in Her Majesty’s.” She nodded to Jane. “And in the case of battle decisions, if Vriska called home every time there was an important decision to make, we’d be overrun by both Derse and the Furthest Ring sooner than a dragon could flap its wings. That being said… I don’t necessarily agree with Vriska’s decision, but I don’t really disagree either. Both courses of action are unlikely to have any significant long-term impact. It’s just that we have an assigned Battle Commander and war officers for a reason.”

“Yeah, and we’d do a crap job of making quick battle decisions,” John added, “if it takes us this long to decide why we’re even here.”

“Which raises a good point, John,” Jane said, “What’s done is done. It’s certainly _not_ our job to pick apart the actions of our Battle Commander when it’s too late to amend them—if they even need amending.”

“What we do need to discuss,” Jake said, catching on to her line of thought. “Is how in dickens we’re going to approach this truce malarkey.”

 

Later, after the roundtable had disbanded, Jane—after receiving a meaningful look from Jake—retreated to her quarters, sitting down in front of her brand new, hyperspeed-processing computer (perks of being the Queen), and opened pesterchum.

She took a deep breath before clicking on the chumhandle she wanted and putting her fingers to the keys.

\-- gutsyGumshoe [GG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
GG: Strider.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] is now an idle chum! --  
GG: I received your messages last night. I hope you’re not too upset. I’d no intention to offend you.  
GG: I... shan’t deny that I may have been ignoring you, but I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, and these things have a way of stacking up on you!  
GG: Which I know you understand.  
GG: You were right, though: we are in very similar situations. Our goals align, and we have the wherewithal to achieve them, with a little planning!  
GG: And for the record, I’m not worried about our private correspondences being exposed.  
GG: Firstly because, well... I’m the Queen! Oh gosh, it feels strange to say, but I mean that there’s no one higher in the Prospitian hierarchy to rain punishment down on me.   
GG: Obviously Jake knows, and so do John and Jade, of course, because it’s nearly impossible to keep anything from those two nosey misfits!  
GG: At some point in the future, I believe it may be a mutual boon if it were public knowledge that me, you, Roxy and Jake are all good friends. Not in the current climate, of course, but at some point.  
GG: Perhaps.  
GG: In fact, this morning I’ve been entertaining the thought of informing some of the members of the Circle. Only the most humbly trustworthy members, of course! And only if the idea doesn’t make you uncomfortable.  
GG: ...  
GG: Dirk?  
GG: I hope I haven’t upset you too terribly with my silence.   
GG: Jake informed me that you seemed awfully riled up... He’s been on my case about you, you know!  
TT: Hey.  
GG: Oh, there you are! :B  
TT: Yeah.  
TT: Thank you for replying. I do understand how the pressures can stack up.  
TT: It’s like juggling hot irons sometimes.  
GG: Indeed!  
TT: Sorry for leaving you waiting there, I’m trying to deal with a... situation.  
TT: Bordering on a crisis.  
GG: Oh dear. I hope it’s nothing too serious?  
TT: Yeah, me too.   
TT: I hope the douchebags you have to deal with over in Prospit aren’t nearly as fucking incompetent as the ones I’m stuck with.  
GG: Not so far. For the most part, I’ve had the benefit of building my own repertoire of advisors.  
GG: There have been minimal hiccups. Mostly they seem to be a cohesive lot, but I suppose only time will tell what tensions will arise!  
TT: Suppose so.  
GG: Although, I do believe my mother’s old jester is still wandering around somewhere... I don’t think I really have the heart to kick him out, but boy oh boy does he give me the shivers!  
TT: You have a jester? Fuck. Closest thing we have to a jester is a high-blooded troll councillor who tries to bang everything with two legs and a face.  
GG: That does sound amusing!  
TT: Sure. In a way.  
TT: Anyway, so long as I’m in a shitty mood, we might as well get right to the crux of the political shit pile. How do you want to do this?  
TT: The truce?  
GG: Oh! Yes, that was something I wanted to mention:  
GG: At the roundtable early this morning, I believe we decided that the most logical and yet appropriately cautious course of action is for us to extend the olive branch to the kingdom of Derse, inviting a delegate of diplomats to meet with the Royal Circle in Prospit and discuss the terms of a truce.  
TT: Good.  
TT: So we’ll decline it, obviously.  
GG: Of course.  
TT: We’ll yank that olive branch right out of Prospit’s dainty grip and flip it turn-ways to offer the same invitation: a Prospitian envoy to be granted entry to the city  of Derse, plus full diplomatic immunity for the purpose of parley.   
TT: That should satisfy the council. They’ll still feel like Derse has the upper hand.  
TT: So long as I’m able to convince them not to burn the olive branch altogether, that is.   
GG: I’m sure you’ll manage it!   
TT: I have Roxy to help, I suppose. As well as... let’s just say, some previously unforeseen assistance.  
GG: That sounds mysterious. :B  
TT: I’d love to discuss it in greater detail, but I’m a little pressed for time, unfortunately.  
TT: How are you planning to send this invitation?  
GG: Which medium do you think would appeal to your council the most?  
TT: “My” council. Ha, good joke.  
TT: The most formal medium possible. So, probably Sollux.  
TT: Although that would take too long for my liking. As far as I know, he’s still somewhere here in Derse, since I haven’t given him anything to deliver to Prospit.   
TT: And I’d prefer to get this all over with as soon as possible, so that we can both focus on the larger issue at hand.  
GG: I feel the same.   
GG: Things were easier when we had two messengers, but I suppose we just have to adapt. How does an e-letter sound?  
TT: It’ll have to do. Wire it over as soon as possible.   
GG: I’ll have it sent by late afternoon, at the latest.  
TT: Good. In that case, I’ll “coincidentally” call a council for this evening.  
GG: Great! :B  
GG: I am glad I realised how much of a fool I was being in thinking it best to ignore you. Being able to discuss these things with you does simplify the diplomatic process a little!  
TT: In a vaguely underhanded way, yes. Not that I feel the slightest bit of guilt.  
TT: And neither should you. Tell whoever you want about our friendship, by the way. Like you said, you’re the Queen. No one can tell you what to do.  
TT: Anyway, as much as I’d love to chat, I really should get going.  
GG: Of course. So should I, if I intend to get that e-letter sent in the promised timeframe.  
GG: Take care, Dirk. Heavy is the crown.  
TT: Same to you, Jane.  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] \--  


With a smile playing around her lips, Jane closed the chat window and sat back in her seat. It certainly felt good to get _that_ dilemma out of the way. And having some certainty about how Derse would react to Prospit’s offer of peace made things feel much more… positive. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be to have to blunder around the diplomatic playing field without having any insight as to her supposed “enemy’s” intentions.

A light knock at the door broke her from her satisfied reverie.

“Who is it?” she called.

“It’s Kankri.”

She frowned. Why was Kankri calling on her in her private quarters? She supposed she considered him a friend, a close acquaintance at the least, but she only really knew him through Porrim and Kanaya, High Priestess and First Priestess, respectively, of the Pantheon of Prospit.

When Jane opened the door, she was surprised to see that Kankri actually looked nervous—her impression of the troll so far had been that he was outspoken and sometimes a little unnecessarily loquacious, but right now he was fidgeting with the sleeves of his bright red sweater, peering at her with his eyebrows knitted sheepishly together.

“Yes?” she said expectantly. “Is everything alright?”

“Ah, well…” he began hesitantly. “I’d thought maybe Porrim would have brought this to you, but when I asked her she told me—with rather more stern wording—that, as a member of the Royal Circle, it would be best if I brought it to you myself.”

Jane let out a tiny sigh. “Bring what to me?”

Kankri looked at her, then looked away. Opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally,  he dropped his arms to his sides and lowered his head. “It’s Karkat,” he said. “My younger brother. Well… not _technically_ my brother, since as you know, we trolls don’t _have_ siblings in the same way as humans, but…” He sighed, a great rush of defeated air from between his teeth. “He’s gone missing, and I think it may be my fault. What’s more, I think he might have gone to Derse.”

 

**ii.**

“Here.”

Karkat placed the sunglasses into Dave’s groping hand.

“Oh. Thanks,” Dave said, unfolding the shades and sliding them onto his face. “Awww, yessss. That is _so_ much better. A reunion has never felt so good!”

Karkat rolled his eyes at the annoying, babbling human boy. They were sitting in a curtained-off area of the newly-reconstructed medical tent. Outside the curtain, medics and nurses were rushing back and forth, still tending to the dying and injured from that morning’s clusterfuck. Karkat’s honest opinion was that there weren’t _nearly_ enough medics on hand—three of them, tending about five times that number of patients with injuries ranging from make-them-comfortable mortal to get-the-fuck-over-it superficial. He was pretty sure Prospit’s side had at least ten medics and twice that many nurses. But it wasn’t like he was drawing comparisons or anything… and it wasn’t like he really knew for sure, anyway. He’d never reached the frontlines on the other side.

This, he supposed, was as close as he was going to get.

 _Are you happy?_ he’d asked himself every other minute on the train ride here. _You wanted to fight. Now you get to—for the other fucking army!_

Dave had just recently regained consciousness, and once again Karkat had been forced to listen to the guy’s confused ramblings as he tried to put his memory back together: _Where am I? Who are you? Who am I? Where’s Rose? Rose, is that you?_ Not that Karkat had any fucking clue who Rose was. Probably some ex-matesprit the loser was still pining over. Whatever.

Having finished verbally making out with his sunglasses, Dave pushed himself awkwardly into a sitting position, grunting in pain. Karkat vaguely recalled being told by a very rushed medic, _“Don’t let him sit up until I can see to him!”_

“You probably shouldn’t sit up,” he said.

“Too late,” Dave gasped, putting a hand to the bandages on his head, then lowering it to the binding on his ribs. “Damn,” he said. Then he looked around. “Wait, so, where are we?”

Karkat groaned. “For fuck’s _sake_ , Dave. We’ve been over this about twenty fucking times already.”

“Have we? Okay. Well, let’s just pretend that I’ve taken one too many knocks to the head. Oh, wait! I have. I think. I’m not sure, remember? Everything’s fuzzier than a cat’s left buttock.”

“Okay, shut the fuck up!” Karkat sighed. “We’re in the medical tent. After we cleared out all the monsters, Meenah got most of the convicts working on rebuilding HQ while the trained forces are working on pushing back the frontlines.”

Dave let out a low laugh, which was cut off when he winced. “You say ‘the convicts’ as if we aren’t convicts ourselves.”

Karkat shrugged. “We aren’t. Meenah absolved us.”

Dave’s eyebrows shot up above the frames of his shades. “No shit? Wow. Remind me to thank her.”

“She’ll probably remind you herself.”

“Don’t you mean… _shell_ remind me herself?”

“No. No I don’t.”

“You know. Shell? It’s a sea pun?”

“Yes I _know_ it’s a fucking sea pun, but it’s godawful. Shut the fuck up.”

Dave smirked, then winced. “Anyway, I feel like I just got dragged under a train. What actually happened?”

“What happened?” Karkat scoffed. “You passed the fuck out, is what happened. Crumpled into dreamland like a fucking idiot in front of the Battle Commander and Army Captain of Derse.”

“Well, I like to leave a good impression. No, you shit, I mean what happened between me passing the fuck out and waking up in this so-called medical tent, with everything apparently back to whatever normal is here and no cat-lizard demons trying to claw their way into our hearts in a very literal sense.”

“Oh. Well… I’m not all that certain, thanks to a certain sword-wielding asshole,” Karkat said, punctuating his words with a glare. “I was all for leaving you where you were and going with the Commander to do whatever she wanted to do with those keys, but Captain Ampora said…” Karkat stopped, frowning slightly. “He said something about you fitting some description of “the guy the prince regent w-was looking for”,” he finished, imitating the Captain’s ridiculous accent. He looked at Dave, expecting some sort of reaction, but with those dumb fucking shades on, the guy had even more of a poker face than usual—and his perpetual poker face had been frustrating enough before. “Does that… mean anything to you?”

Dave was silent for a second. “Should it?” he finally said.

“Uh, yes? If the Prince fucking Regent sent a specific request to HQ for a guy of your exact description to be sent back to Derse as soon as possible, it’s pretty fucking relevant, and therefore _really should_ mean something to you!”

“How am I supposed to know what the guy wants?” Dave shrugged. “Maybe one of the officers I fought is dead and I’m being called back for execution.”

The completely flat tone of voice he used was a dead giveaway to the fact that there was _definitely_ something he wasn’t saying. Why the fuck would the Prince Regent himself put out a warrant for some guy who killed a lowly patrol officer? Not to mention, a _private_ warrant, directly to the eyes of Captain Ampora. _Something_ didn’t add up, but as infuriating as Karkat found it all, he knew he shouldn’t give a shit. Who was this guy to him, anyway? As soon as they left this tent, their chances of seeing each other again were slim to none.

“Fucking fine,” Karkat muttered. “But the point is, because _you’re_ apparently valuable, _I_ got saddled with the task of hauling your deadweight ass to safety.”

A smirk spread across Dave’s face. “Cop a good feel, did ya?”

“No! Fuck you!” Normally, Karkat would have been inclined to shove him, but his self-control wasn’t so bad that he would assault an injured man. He kept his hands to himself—like a _mature adult_. “ _Anyway_ , while I was occupied with an armful of unconscious douche-face extraordinaire, Meenah went and did whatever she did with the keys, and the next time I saw her she had this… well…” He struggled to find the words to describe what he had seen. “Well, it was like a massive gun, except it didn’t shoot bullets. It sprayed this silvery vapour, and as soon as it touched the demons they just sort of… went to sleep, I guess. Then it was just a matter of killing them were they lay and starting the clean-up.”

“Damn,” said Dave. “That sounds less interesting than what I imagined. Don’t feel so bad about missing it now.” He rubbed idly at the binding on his ribs. “If Derse has a weapon that can put the demons to _sleep_ , then why are they still an issue?” he wondered aloud.

“It’s only experimental, apparently. I don’t know where it came from, other than the fact that apparently Derse’s blueblooded weapons-master is some sort of prodigy. He’s probably a tool, though.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Literally all fucking bluebloods and other varieties of highbloods are tools. The only highblood I’ve met so far who _hasn’t_ been a complete sack of rotten shit is Meenah, and the jury’s still out on the final verdict on her, anyway, since I literally only met her today.”

The curtain around them rustled and a nurse poked her head in. “Oh, good! You’re awake. I’ve been told you’re being sent back to Derse, and the train leaves in half an hour.”

“Sweet,” said Dave.

“I’ll just go get a medic to check you over, and then you should be off to the supply tent to reclaim your belongings.” She frowned briefly. “Very strange for a convict to be sent back…”

Karkat fixed him with a hard glare. “We’re not convicts. The Commander herself absolved us.”

“Right, of course,” said the nurse, clearly not believing a word. “Well, anyway.”

Then she was gone.

“Presumptuous jerkoff,” Karkat muttered.

The medic came and gave Dave a once over, checking briefly that his bandages were secure and asking him a few questions about any pains, discomforts, yadda, yadda, yadda, and then telling him to get his head properly looked at by a doctor as soon as he could. Finally, the medic was gone, and Karkat led the way to the supply tent. Dusk was just starting to creep into the sky, throwing the already-dull greys and browns of the camp into contrast and making everything look flat and monochrome.

Dave’s only belongings—which had been confiscated when he was arrested, and transported on the same train as them as a supposed reward system for loyalty—were his handheld comms device and a grubby rucksack. The first thing Dave did was rummage around in the latter for a clean shirt, the one he’d been wearing before having been completely ruined with blood (a bit his own, and plenty of the strange oily stuff from the demons) and filth. Then he tried to turn on his comms device.

“Damn. No battery,” he said.

“There’s no internet here anyway,” Karkat informed him. “Some of the higher-ups have devices which connect via cell signals, though.” He pointed over at the damaged cell tower by the central command tent. “Easier to throw up one of those than to set up routers and repeaters and stuff all through the camp.”

Dave nodded, his gaze dropping from the cell tower and sweeping around the rest of the camp. “Man, they cleaned up this place fast. Looks like a completely different place without all the demons lurking around and all the smoke and stuff.”

“All is as shoald be!” said a familiar voice, as an arm draped around each of their shoulders. “Hey, Shrimp! Nice to see you back in the sea of the living.”

Dave shrugged. “Eh, it’s nothing particularly grand. Can’t wait to clock out, actually.”

Meenah grinned. “Whale, lucky for you, your train leaves soon. Shame you’ve been called back to the city so soon. Come visit, maybe?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and shoved her razor-sharp grin in Karkat’s face. “And waterboat you, Shouty?

Karkat blinked. “What _about_ me?”

“You not gonna run off home to Derse? You cod if you wanted—you’re a free fish now, McNubs.”

Oh. _Oh_. Karkat hadn’t thought about that—being absolved of his ‘crimes’ meant that he was free to leave. But… Derse wasn’t his home. He’d left Prospit in a fit of rage, but before he’d even reached Derse’s gates he’d known that he’d never be able to achieve what he’d set out to. And now he was here—more or less where he’d wanted to be in the first place, just on the wrong side. No one here knew he was a Prospitian. What’s more, they didn’t know he was a mutantblood—his eyes were still dark enough for him to pass as rustblooded. He didn’t belong here but… maybe he could make the best of a bad situation. Gather intel. Yeah! That’s what he’d do—he’d gather as much intel on the inner workings of the Dersian army as he could and then when the time came, he’d make his exit and march back to Prospit with a head full of _invaluable_ information. Yeah. Yeah! It was a great idea. Right? Yes. It was a fantastic idea and there was no way even he could ever possibly fuck up such a perfect plan.

“I guess I’ll stick around,” he said.

“Fintastic!” said Meenah, then patted him on the shoulder before withdrawing her arms from both of them. “Whale, train’s that way. I’ll come find you later, Nubs.” She pointed, then loped off to do whatever she was supposed to be doing. Telling other people what they were supposed to be doing, probably.

Dave turned to him. “Wanna walk me to the train like I’m a wide-eyed melon-breasted schoolgirl in need of an escort?”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “Fine. But only because I don’t have anything better to do.”

They started walking in relative silence. Some of the ground was still sticky with the strange oily blood of the demons, so they took care to avoid those areas. As walked further in the direction Meenah had pointed them in, and further towards the mouth of the valley, their surroundings started to look vaguely more familiar.

“So,” Dave said, “You have pesterchum, right?”

“Who the fuck doesn’t?” Karkat said. “Pesterchum is a universal constant.”

“I know, right? Anyway, you wanna trade handles?”

Karkat stared at him, but Dave’s expression still wasn’t giving anything away. “Why?”

“Why?” Dave scoffed. “Dude, when a totally rad guy such as myself extends a string of friendship towards you, you do _not_ ask why, okay? You just grab the string, and tie that fucker around your pinky finger so you can never lose it and never forget it.”

“Ugh.” Karkat shook his head. “I’m not sure I _want_ to be friends with an apparently “totally rad guy” who makes metaphors longer and more convoluted than the never-ending list of linguistic functions of the human English language.”

Dave laughed. “You do it too, man! You literally just did it!”

“Exactly!” Karkat exclaimed. He might have been smiling a little bit. “But I think you’re forgetting that there’s no internet here. I mean, I know you took a few knocks to the head, but come the fuck on, you’ve been awake for long enough to remember five minutes ago.”

“Sure, but if the literal fucking Battle Commander of the Dersian army has taken a liking to you, she’ll probably hook you up with a cell-operated device in no time,” Dave reasoned.

It made sense. Karkat sighed and shrugged. “Fine, whatever. Let’s trade handles.”

Dave grinned. “That’s how you do _friendship_ , bitch.”

GG: I suppose only time will tell what tensions will arise!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm definitely updating too often I have an exam in less than 12 hours hahahahahaha help


	7. Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The likelihood of a_ perfect _outcome was slim, but a_ good _outcome was more than possible. This much Rose knew, although she wasn’t so certain as to the probabilities—her aspect was Light, after all, and not Mind._

“So! What do you think?”

Not even Rose could stop the astonishment that crept up her face as Roxy opened the door and ushered her into “her new home.” Rose’s own quarters—a bedroom/mini-sitting room combination and an elaborate ensuite bathroom. It was far more than the modest adjoined bedrooms and bathroom she and Dave had shared at the Temple of Light. (Of course, the Temple had offered her private quarters, but for Dave’s sake she’d declined.)

The bedroom, which was where they stood now, was _massive_. The four-poster bed was unnecessarily expansive, but good grief did it look comfortable. Windows lined the far wall, showing a peaceful view of the dusk-darkened ocean behind the palace. At the other end of the room was a sitting room: a bookcase, a chaise lounge, a small table and a couple of chairs forming a nice little area for if Rose wanted to relax or maybe even entertain guests. The last time Rose had lived in the palace, she vaguely recalled sharing one of the smaller bedrooms with Dave. She’d never been entitled to anything this grand.

“It’s wonderful!” she breathed unabashedly.

Roxy grinned. “Pretty great, right? I mean, it’s a little plain at the moment, but we can work on personalising it! We can order nice bedsheets, and maybe some new curtains… Oh! And art! For the walls! That’s _soooo_ important! I totes saw you eyeing up my wizards last night!” She grabbed Rose’s hand and drew her further into the room. “Not to mention clothes, Rose! Cloooothes!!” Roxy pulled her over to the white-wood dresser by the bed, winking and opening the top drawer. “There’s this, too. _Very_ important for any princess.” She reached in and pulled out a circlet, similar to the one she wore on her own head. Comprised of strands of black and silver metal, woven together in an intricate and yet simple pattern, adorned with a small purple crystal right in the centre.

“Goodness, Roxy,” Rose said, gingerly taking the circlet and turning it back and forth. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yep! I had Equius work on it overnight. He’s a creep, but he’s good with metal and electronics—I loaded all the modules onto it myself, though. It’s got everything you could ever want on the go, including pesterchum, a module to call an attendant, a direct line to the Temple if you need it, an internet search… Here, let me!” She took the circlet from Rose’s hands and placed it atop her head. It settled snugly and comfortably around Rose’s hair and across her forehead. As it did, a holo-screen popped up in front of her face: a log-in window for pesterchum.

“This is incredible,” she said, entering her details. The eye-gaze technology was startlingly accurate and efficient. “I assume yours and Dirk’s circlets have similar features?”

“Of course!”

None of her chums were currently online, she noticed—which was good, she supposed, because she was reluctant to contact GG or EB before she knew Dave was safe. If they asked where he was she wasn’t sure what to tell them, and she didn’t want to lie to them.

She smiled at Roxy. “I suppose I should add your handles to my chumroll.”

Roxy nodded enthusiastically.

 

A little later, after a quick dinner, Rose was sat on the chaise lounge reading, passing the time until the commencement of this evening’s council to discuss Prospit’s invitation. She had to admit, Dirk had collaborated very well with Prospit’s new Queen to manipulate events in their mutual favour. If _that_ was any indication, Derse and Prospit would be far better off as allies than as enemies; the things they had the potential to achieve working together was far greater than anything they could do separately. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts, after all. Rose just hoped they could get not only the respective administrative sectors of both kingdoms, but also the military management, the actual bulk of both armies, and, of course, the everyday plebians of both cities to see it the same way. The ideal outcome would be for the only dividing factor between the two kingdoms to be the short travel distance between the two capital cities.

It was, of course, the purpose of those like Rose to help that sort of outcome occur. The likelihood of a _perfect_ outcome was slim, but a _good_ outcome was more than possible. This much Rose knew, although she wasn’t so certain as to the probabilities—her aspect was Light, after all, and not Mind.

She’d left the chat module on her circlet logged in, and in that moment the holo-screen flashed up in front of her in a blur of red text.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--  
  
TG: so the convict train has wifi apparently  
TG: who would have guessed  
TT: Dave!  
TT: You’re alright, then?  
TG: how do you define “alright”  
TG: things i am: alive  
TG: things i also am: in pain  
TG: things i am additionally: really fucking confused   
TG: things i am going to be: flying off the fucking handle if you dont lay down some sicknasty explanations right this second young lady  
TT: Relax. I’m glad to hear that you’re... semi-alright.  
TT: How badly are you in pain?  
TG: hey  
TG: you with the brains  
TG: stop using avoidance tactics and answer my question  
TT: You never asked me any question.  
TG: oh yeah  
TG: i guess i didnt  
TT: I asked you a question, however, which you have thus far declined to answer.  
TG: youre annoying sometimes  
TG: that being said after the day ive just had its nice to return to some simulacrum of normalcy  
TG: meaning you and your annoyingness  
TG: i maaaayyy have taken a couple of blows to the head  
TG: like enough to warrant the tentative diagnosis of a double concussion and a recommendation to see an actual legit doctor  
TG: and i maaaaayy have a couple of fractured ribs  
TG: nbd really  
TG: but im in no mood to spare any feelz so im just going to go ahead and say that this is all your fault and you should feel bad.  
TT: Thank you.  
TT: Rest assured, I feel appropriately guilt-ridden. However I’m obligated to grill you for the details on your tentatively diagnosed double concussion later.  
TT: You had questions?  
TG: yes  
TG: for example  
TG: youre responsible for me being called back to derse right  
TG: apparently by the legit prince fucking regent or something???  
TG: how the fuck did you pull that one off  
TG: oh and thank you for that i guess  
TT: Ah...   
TT: Now, that’s a difficult subject. One which I think would best be explained in person.  
TG: okay i rescind my gratitude  
TG: fuck you  
TT: Trust me, it’s not the sort of thing that would be... appropriate, shall we say, to discuss via instant messaging.  
TT: But yes, I am indirectly responsible for your being called back to Derse, and the request did indeed come directly from the “prince fucking regent.”  
TG: but  
TG: i just  
TG: HOW??  
TG: ...  
TG: rose im waiting  
TG: oh youre doing this silence thing huh  
TG: real fucking mature rose i wasnt aware id inadvertently travelled back in time to when we were like fucking THIRTEEN  
TG: ...  
TG: ugh fine whatever  
TG: next question  
TG: did you know this would happen?  
TT: I did not.  
TG: right because its not like youre a seer and can see the future or anything.  
TT: Sigh.   
TT: Dave, I’ve explained this to you enough times: I cannot see the future. I see fortuitous outcomes, and the paths that need following in order to reach those outcomes.  
TT: The reason we needed to go to Derse is because it was the best possible path for us to take in contributing to the best possible overall outcome.  
TT: There is never any reliable way for me to know what snags might occur along the way. Only what needs to be done and what will be accomplished if it is done.  
TT: Us arriving at Derse was something that needed to happen to contribute to a greater outcome, one which relies on many other factors and which we will not yet reach for some time. In a way, our entrance into Derse is both the inciting event and the indicator for a great slew of imminent necessary occurrences.  
TT: Perhaps you being sent to Skaia was also something that needed to happen, but if it is, it isn’t and wasn’t within my field of vision. Some things just aren’t. One person being able to see everything would simply be against the laws of the universe; the very nature of the Light demands that I must work in conjunction with others, in myriad fashions.  
TT: However, you’re headed back to Derse now, aren’t you? So, in the great scheme of things, we both end up in Derse. No harm done.  
TG: “no harm done” hahahaha  
TG: did i mention the double concussion?  
TG: hey rose what does it feel like to not have a headache  
TG: cause i cant fucking remember  
TG: i cant even tell whether or not i still have a headache right now because its been such a constant state of being for me today that i dont even know what to look for anymore  
TT: Alright, I apologise. Maybe there was some harm done in a personal sense.  
TT: In a teleological sense, however, everything is perfectly on track.  
TG: the ends justify the means huh  
TT: That’s a rather crude way to put it, but yes.  
TT: Dave... I know my expositing about outcomes and paths and the nature of my abilities might make it seem like I don’t care what happens to you along the way, but I do care.  
TT: You’re my brother after all. We’ve only ever had each other. No doubt we’ll meet others to rely on, but that will never change. I don’t need to be a Seer to know so.  
TT: Not to mention, I should be thanking you for your valiant sacrifice. You fought those officers, didn’t you? I can’t say it wasn’t incredibly foolish, but if not for it, I can’t imagine I would have gotten away.  
TG:   
TG: right  
TG: yeah  
TG: dont mention it i was just doing my brotherly duties and being an impulsive asshole with a sword  
TG: sorry for going off on you before  
TT: It’s alright. I understand.  
TG: good  
TG: anyway this train will probably be arriving in derse in like half an hour  
TT: I’ll meet you at the station.  
TG: cool  
TT: Until then, I have to go. There are things that need my attention.  
TG: of course there are  
TG: i wont even ask  
TG: go do your things  
TG: seeya soon  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \-- 

Rose put her book back on its shelf with a great sense of relief blossoming in her chest. The council would commence in little more than five minutes, but she doubted it would be over in time for Rose to find her way to whatever sector Dave’s train would be pulling into—and she’d promised she’d meet him there, so she intended to keep to her word.

She decided it best to send a message to Dirk. He was dubiously in charge of the council, after all.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
TT: I’ve received contact from Dave.  
TT: He’s alive but perhaps not as well as he could possibly be, given the situation.  
TT: Well enough to aim an appropriate level of snark and irony in my direction, however. That’s something.  
TT: The train is due to arrive in approximately half an hour, according to him.  
TT: Snark and irony, huh? That sounds uncomfortably familiar.   
TT: So I’ve heard, but not yet experienced in person?  
TT: Who the fuck has time for snark and irony when the fate of the kingdom is balanced across your shoulders as tentatively as an egg on the silver spoon stuck in your mouth while you attempt to navigate your way across a bed of hot coals?  
TT: Never mind. There it is.  
TT: Alright, so it can’t be avoided sometimes.  
TT: It must be genetic.  
TT: Probably. But anyway, that’s one thing to not worry about so much anymore. Thank you for telling me.  
TT: Although I suppose one reason you’re doing so is to ask whether or not you should bother coming to this council, only to scurry off partway through in order to fetch your twin brother?  
TT: I should really be thanking _you_. Your quick response to the situation is the only reason he’s being returned to us.  
TT: And, yes. That is the second reason why I decided to contact you. The first being to inform you of Dave’s relative safety, of course.  
TT: There was something in his flippant prattling about being told to go see a doctor... so we’ll have to see whether or not that will eventuate into something more severe.  
TT: It might be best if you skip this council. Really, its sole purpose is to discuss Prospit’s invitation, and I’m sure Roxy and I can subtly push the council’s conclusion in a favourable direction.  
TT: I’ve already told you the plan, so you know it shouldn’t be too hard. We’ll be appealing directly to their delicate elitist sensibilities, after all.  
TT: I can summon a doctor to the palace tomorrow morning. I think for now it’s better if he just gets some rest.  
TT: From what I’ve been told, there was an undisclosed “incident” at HQ this morning, resulting in a number of casualties and tactical setbacks that make me want to smash my head repeatedly into a fucking wall.   
TT: Wonderful. I think it’s safe to assume that our brother’s gotten himself tangled up in it somehow.  
TT: No doubt.  
TT: What train station will I be looking for?  
TT: There’s a private military station in the lower city, by the industrial sector. Be careful not to get in the way of the military personnel and medical staff: the train will mostly be filled with soldiers too injured to keep fighting. Severed limbs, missing eyes, brain damage, et cetera. Just be aware of that. It’s not pretty. Once they get off the train they’ll be taken to the hospital pretty swiftly.  
TT: And I assume there’ll be more of them than usual, considering this morning’s “incident,” about which I’ve been giving agonizingly few details due to my contacts being busy recovering from the fallout of whatever the fuck actually happened.   
TT: Likely, Dave won’t be given the go-ahead to get off the train until the worst of the injured have been whisked away.  
TT: So you’re in no particular hurry.  
TT: Good. Thank you, Dirk.  
TT: No problem. I’ll send someone to wait for you at the gate and drive you down. Walking through the city on your own in the dark in the current social climate isn’t really the best idea.  
TT: I tend to be good at avoiding trouble, excepting outstanding circumstances of course. Case in point: yesterday evening. Suitably ironic, considering my twin’s propensity for diving headlong into trouble. I very much appreciate the thought, though.  
TT: Well, our “father” may have been a piece of shit, but luckily Roxy and I were mostly raised by attendants, anyway, and they were more than sufficient in teaching us some semblance of a sense of fuckin’ courtesy.  
TT: But anyway, the commencement of the council is imminent so we should both probably get going.  
TT: One more thing, though. Don’t tell Roxy about Dave, yet. She’ll get too excited and it’ll distract her from this meeting. In fact, she’ll probably insist on going with you. I’ll give her some excuse as to why you can’t make it.  
TT: I understand. She’ll be able to see him soon enough, anyway.  
TT: As will I, of course. And you.  
TT: Yeah. I’ll hold off on thinking too deeply about that for the next hour or so. Get some serious compartmentalisation goin’ on.  
TT: Naturally. Where should I bring him, when we return?  
TT: I agree with the sentiment that he should rest before being shunted off to see a doctor, but I’ve yet to fully explain our situation to him. I thought it best to tell him in person... otherwise there’s no real way to gauge his reaction.  
TT: And I know he won’t take “later” for an answer again.  
TT: Ah, geez. That’s right. You said he didn’t remember anything.  
TT: Bring him to the private sitting room, near my quarters.  
TT: Will do.  
TT: Until then, good luck with the council.  
TT: Thanks.  
  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

 

“You should be good to go, now,” said the red-haired driver of the car as the steady stream of gruesome scenes on stretchers pouring out of the blocky, no-nonsense military train station slowed to a trickle. “I’ll wait here.”

“Thank you,” Rose said, a little breathless for some reason. “I’m sorry, but what was your name?”

The driver turned and offered Rose a smile. “Alistair Archer. Just call me Arch, though. Everyone does.”

Rose nodded. “Arch, then. Thank you.” Then she got out of the car and made her way towards the train station’s entrance.

The place was glaringly lit with fluorescent lights set at intervals in the high concrete ceiling. The bright lighting threw every colour into a whole new level of severity: the faint splashes and trickles of fresh blood on the concrete were so potently red they almost seemed to glow. With military personnel still running back and forth, on and off the train, in and out of the station, it looked as if something had just occurred right _here_ , rather than multiple miles away. Rose frowned at the scene. She’d had her own ideas as to the severity of the situation up north, but seeing this made her think that she might have severely underestimated it.

Then she spotted Dave, and knew she had. He was wearing his shades, as always, but they looked in need of a serious clean. The bandage wrapped around his head was spotted with leaking blood at his right temple, and he held himself gingerly, shoulders hunched even more than usual, a dead indicator that the fractured ribs he’d mentioned were probably bothering him more than he’d admit if asked.

“Dave,” she called, setting off towards him at a brisk pace.

He turned, spotted her, and met her halfway. “Hey,” he said. “So. Here I am.”

“Here you are. And here I am.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something further, but instead, after a moment of hesitation, wrapped his arms around her, burying his face into her shoulder. Rose was faintly surprised for a second—sure, she and Dave had been through multiple flavours of ‘ _the wringer_ ’ together, but if anything, their upbringing had resulted in the both of them being mostly averse to physical contact, even with each other. But she returned the hug gladly. Gently, out of care for his ribs.

She felt him shudder as he let out a breath. “You wouldn’t believe the fucking day I’ve had,” he mumbled into the collar of her cardigan.

“No,” Rose agreed softly. “I’m sure I wouldn’t.”

TT: You’re my brother after all. We’ve only ever had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I have such trouble with this chapter? Rose's _dialogue_ is easy enough to write, but somehow the ability to properly capture her POV eludes me. She has a level of class and chill that I just can't emulate.
> 
> This chapter more or less marks the end of the first arc of the story, I guess. Which means that the next two to three chapters will contain exposition, answers to some questions (and more questions ofc), and just generally setting things up for the next arc, which... looks like its going to be a lot more involved and twisty and complicated than the first, which was relatively straightforward. This kind of story is probably very difficult to read on a chapter-every-couple-days' basis. I'm sorry about that. 
> 
> And feel free to drop me any questions you might have. About... anything. I guess. Ask about my cats if you really want. Obviously I won't give you direct answers about the plot, but knowing what questions you're wondering about might help me avoid plot holes. And plot holes are the enemy, here, folks, just as much as potholes. I live in a rural area. There are potholes everywhere. They are annoying to accidentally drive over, like damn, RIP in piece, suspension. But I REFUSE to let there be plot holes, if I can help it!!!


	8. Not Just Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So it had been weird when he’d first noticed the ritzy circlet Rose had been wearing in lieu of her normal headband. It had gotten weirder when she had led him out of the train station to the sleek black car waiting for them. And now, this? This was just too fucking much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written by taking a liiiittle, _tiiiiiny_ leaf out of Roxy Lalonde's Book of Not-So-Wise Wisdom. I have a friend who would sometimes say, "write drunk, edit sober." I wouldn't really recommend it because TYPOS GALORE, aaand especially not if you're underage, but admittedly it helps with minor writer's block. Definitely edit sober though. There were at least three sentences that had words straight-up missing when I went through.
> 
> why am i telling you this just read the chapter already there are strilondes you'll love it

**i.**

“Correct me, but I’m pretty fucking sure this is the royal palace,” said Dave, staring up at the immensely grandiose black, silver, and midnight purple-accented structure. The style of architecture sat somewhere between needlessly elegant and unnecessarily practical, walls of thick, undoubtedly impenetrable stone spinning off from the main bulk of the structure into an array of towers, turrets, and other palace-like building appendages starting with the letter ‘T’. Overall, it left quite the impression of awe. “We maaaay be at the wrong address?”

So it had been weird when he’d first noticed the ritzy circlet Rose had been wearing in lieu of her normal headband. It had gotten weirder when she had led him out of the train station to the sleek black car waiting for them, replete with an incredibly friendly if somewhat strange-looking driver. Dave hadn’t asked _why_ at the time, figuring _all would be explained_ at some point in the near future, but he’d certainly wondered. And now, this? This was just too fucking much to _not_ ask.

“On the contrary,” said Rose, an amused smile teasing at her lips. “We’re at exactly the right address. Arch, would you care to take us around the back?”

“Of course, my lady.”

Dave turned and fixed his sister with a blank stare.

Rose sighed. “Do you still really not remember anything from the first four years of our lives?”

He shook his head slowly.

A frown found its way onto her face. “That _is_ strange. And unfortunate. It makes things a lot more difficult to explain.”

“Uh, well. Keep this in mind.” He pointed to the bandage on his head. He’d been told it had soaked through—god damn, but head wounds were fucking inimitable in their ability to continue bleeding. “How difficult are we talking? You’re not gonna tell me we’re like, long lost royalty or anything like that, are you?”

Her mouth pressed into a straight line.

“Rose,” he said. “We’re not. You’re fucking with me.”

The car stopped.

“Perhaps we should take this inside,” Rose said. “Thank you very much for the ride, Arch.”

“My pleasure, Princess,” said the driver, his smug grin visible in the rear-view mirror.

“You’re _fucking_ with me,” Dave repeated.

“Dave,” Rose said sternly, her door half open. “Inside. Please?”

Rose continued to say jack shit about anything as she lead the way through high-ceilinged silver and purple hallways. Meanwhile, Dave wasn’t particularly paying attention to where he was going—he was too busy attempting to pick his brains for any _shred_ of memory that might validate this potential new revelation. Nothing about Derse was sparking anything; certainly nothing about the palace. It was all totally unfamiliar to him. If he and Rose were secretly royalty, this place would be assaulting him with memories left and right, right? That was how it happened in the motion pictures… right?

What he was _pretty sure_ was his earliest memory was him and Rose, age four, huddled in a small alcove under the train tracks. He’d felt like they’d been there forever. He’d been sure they had. Whenever a train rumbled by overhead, the sound was nigh unbearable and he and Rose both would clamp their tiny hands over their ears and yell as loud as they could in a feeble attempt to drown out the sound. It was loud, and it was awful, but it was warm. It was safe. It was always safe under the train tracks. Or at the very least, it _felt_ safe, away from the hostile hustle and bustle of the town’s superheated streets.

There was nothing in his memory about obsidian-paved cities and lavish silver castles and purple hallways. Just… heat, trains, and the constant _tick, tick, ticking_ of the clock tower they’d relocated to once living under railways had started to give them both perpetual tinnitus.

Rose led him into what seemed to be a fairly regular-looking living room—just, ten million times fancier and more expensive than he was used to. Elaborate purple couches, arranged in a square around a dark wooden coffee table, upon which sat an elegant silver tea set. Mounted upon one wall was the largest screen Dave had ever seen inside a building; its width at least matched that of the coffee table. Off in a little alcove in the corner was a basic kitchenette, with a kettle, a mini-fridge, and a microwave oven. Rose gracefully lowered herself onto one end of the three-seater couch facing the wall-mounted screen. This was _not_ how Dave was used to seeing her: wearing a clean, elegant purple and black dress (okay, yes, fine, he only just noticed the dress now), that weird but strangely flattering circlet, and perching all lady-like on this fancy-ass fucking couch, all black plush and purple stitching. Yet, the look suited her. She looked like she _belonged_ here—and not just because she matched the colour scheme.

Dave did not feel as if _he_ belonged here. Not one bit.

Gingerly, he sat on the edge of one of the loveseats at one end of the coffee table, facing Rose.

“So,” he said, drawing out the word. “Do I… get my explanation now?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “I suppose you do.”

“Okay. Are we secretly royalty or not?”

“Yes,” she repeated. “We are, in fact, _secretly_ royalty. You are the younger prince of Derse. I am the younger Princess.”

Dave didn’t really know what to say, so he laughed. “Okay, okay! Good fucking joke, Rose. No, really, what are we doing here?”

She fixed him with a deadpan stare.

“I’m serious,” he said. “There’s no fucking way.”

“There are _so many_ ways!” said a voice from behind him, laden with barely-restrained excitement. Dave spun around (ow, head… bad idea) to see a young woman standing in the doorway, perhaps a couple of years older than Rose and himself, dressed in simple white leggings, a pink tunic, and an elegant black waistcoat. She wore a circlet similar to the one Rose wore, lower on her forehead: silver and black intertwined, set with a stone a similar shade of pink to her eyes. And her hair…

Oh. Her platinum blonde hair was almost the exact same shade as Dave’s. Her face, too, looked startlingly familiar—not because it sparked any memories, but because it looked disturbingly like a female version of what he saw in the mirror—the graceful cheekbones and slim, upturned nose, most notably. He could see Rose in that face too—the shape of her eyes, the height of her forehead, the roundness of her chin. That grin, however, that split the girl’s face into dazzling white teeth and smooth pale skin, was _nothing_ like anything either Rose or Dave ever wore.

“Dave!!” she squealed, practically vaulting the loveseat he was sitting on and throwing her arms around him. “You look so grown uuuuup!!! Oh my goodness, you grew up _cute!_ ”

She was squeezing him a _little_ tight for comfort, and his bound ribs were twinging in protest. Warily, he patted her gently on the back. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

The young woman pulled back, still keeping a firm-but-gentle grip on both of his shoulders. Dave was particularly dumbfounded when he saw the actual legitimate tears forming in her eyes.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” she asked quietly.

“I’m sorry,” said Dave. He didn’t know why he said it, he just felt compelled to. Mainly because he really seriously _didn’t_ want this girl who was probably-definitely his older sister to start crying.

“Roxy,” said Rose. “I think Dave is a little overwhelmed right now.”

The young woman—Roxy, apparently—nodded and released Dave, shuffling back so that there was a comfortable distance between them. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, swiping at her eyes and smearing her makeup. “But I _do_ remember you. If only a little.” She smiled sadly.

Okay, now Dave just felt guilty. He looked back at Rose, who smiled encouragingly at him

“Do you believe me yet?” she asked.

“I’m still not entirely sure I’m not just dreaming,” he admitted. “I mean, I did take a few knocks to the head, so maybe I’m actually still unconscious and having some weirdly lucid dream… or maybe my brains have been so severely fucking jarred that I’ve just gone completely round the bend. You know. We’ll find out when I wake up.”

Roxy giggled. “Oh, you’re perfectly awake. You’re in pain, right? You can’t feel physical pain in dreams.”

He looked at her. She was still smiling that sad little smile, but it looked vaguely sympathetic, as if maybe she actually gave a shit about him. It wasn’t a familiar expression, so Dave couldn’t be sure. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am. A whole lot of fucking pain, actually, and trying to process all…” he gestured to the room around him, to Roxy, to Rose’s outfit, “…all _this_ … is _not_ helping matters.”

“Then maybe we really ought to leave the in-depth discussions for tomorrow,” said _yet another_ voice from the door. This time, Dave remembered to turn more slowly.

It was like looking at a male version of Rose, but, predictably, Dave could see some of himself in the face of the young man who stood in the doorway. Notably, the shades perched on his face, the severe jawline, and the inscrutable poker face that Dave had no doubt was the guy’s default expression—it was his, too. Like Rose and Roxy, this guy also wore a circlet—although a much plainer version, simply a band of silver atop black, a glinting chunk of amber set front and centre.

Dave guessed that this was, most likely, the Prince fucking Regent. With a jolt, he realised that this guy was also, if all this wasn’t just some ridiculously elaborate prank, his brother.

Suddenly it made sense as to why the Prince Regent himself would be requesting Dave’s safe return to Derse.

Dave turned and stared at the coffee table, feeling dizzy—and he suspected that, for the first time today, it wasn’t related to any head injuries.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding embarrassingly wan to his own ears. “Great idea.”

 

**ii.**

For once, Dirk could say that the council had been an unequivocal success. Despite his reassurances, he’d been worried that not having Rose there—who was, despite being only sixteen, a fucking _Seer of Light_ —would make things a little more difficult, but luckily the councillors had reacted to Prospit’s invitation exactly as he’d expected them to. Subsequently, they’d reacted to Dirk’s suggestion as to their plan of action with enthusiasm.

Dirk had begun the council by saying, “This council was called to discuss the state of our army at Skaia right now, but I believe that a more pressing issue has come to light: Prospit has sent us an invitation via e-letter.”

A murmur went around the table, some councillors curious and others enraged by Prospit’s presumptuousness. Dirk caught Roxy’s eye across the table, and she winked at him.

“Prospit has invited us to send a delegate their way, to be afforded full diplomatic immunity within their walls, in order to discuss the terms of a truce.”

“Well, fancy that!” said Roxy with feigned surprise. “I guess they want a truce, after all!”

“This is certainly startling to learn,” said one councillor. “I wonder if it is because they believe they will lose.”

“It is because they are cowards! They can no longer stand up to the honour and strength of the Dersian army!”

Dirk refrained from rolling his eyes—without his shades, the gesture would be uncomfortably visible. Some of these councillors were so predictable—particularly the trolls, who were mostly highblooded or seadwellers, thanks to the King thinking the antiquated hemospectrum actually had some impact on a troll’s quality of counsel. In Dirk’s experience, it kind of did—they were all complete shit at it.

“Our side of the battle isn’t so well off as you think,” Dirk told them. “I’m told by Captain Ampora that this morning, there was a breach at the front lines—some undisclosed idiot made some undisclosed mistake, and HQ was nearly run down by demons. It’s very lucky that they managed to recover, and if they hadn’t, we would effectively no longer have an army, regardless of what Prospit is doing.”

That certainly shut them up.

“It’s fair to assume that Prospit, too, has recognised that the Furthest Ring is a much greater threat to them than either of us are to each other, and they’ve come to the conclusion that both of our kingdoms would be better off working together to quell an admittedly much greater threat,” he finished.

“Or, they _want_ us to be overrun!” said another councillor. “How do we know that this isn’t just a ploy? How do we know that we’ll ever see any ‘diplomatic party’ we send ever again?”

“Yes! Prospit does not have honour like Derse does!”

It was tenuous, but it was an opening for Dirk: “Well, then, why don’t we reverse the invitation?” he paused, and looked around the table, trying to lock eyes with as many councillors as he could. They regarded him with a mixture of incredulity, interest, and occasionally, downright disapproval. The carapacians, of course, simply gazed admiringly, which was a confidence boost if nothing else. “Maybe we don’t trust Prospit’s honour, but we know that we, as Dersians, have plenty to spare. So rather than accepting their invitation, why don’t we decline, and instead invite _them_ to send a delegate party to _us_. That way, we can negotiate a truce—a temporary truce, if need be—without having to forfeit a single drop of our Dersian honour.”

It felt very fake and a _lot_ like pandering to be waxing poetic about “Dersian honour,” but whatever got the job done. The key that fits is the key that unlocks.

The reaction around the table was mixed—but there was some agreement. From there, it was simply a matter of convincing enough of the councillors for the majority to sway in favour of Dirk’s suggestion. Eventually, to Dirk’s relief—and Roxy’s, he could tell— it did.

Shortly before the council disbanded, Dirk received a message from Rose. He managed to hold off on checking it until the councillors started to file out.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
TT: I found him. He’s... confused. He’s started to figure out a few things for himself, but I fear he’s not taking them too well.  
TT: I think today has really taken a toll on him. Concerning, but...  
TT: I’m taking him to the private sitting room now.  
TT: Meet you there?  


“Roxy,” Dirk said, stopping her before she could leave. “Go to the private sitting room. We found Dave.”

Roxy’s face lit up. “Really?!” Then, without even waiting for an answer, she took off.

Dirk took the time to shoot Rose a reply.

TT: On my way now. So is Roxy.  
TT: Don’t be surprised if she beats me there.  


Then he followed after Roxy, albeit with a little more cool.

 

Dirk had trouble sleeping that night.

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t totally fucking exhausted—because he was. He always was after verbally wrestling with the council, trying to get them to understand simple fucking logic, to understand why something was or wasn’t beneficial to the kingdom. God damn, he straight up _hated_ the King, resented him not just for being a shitty father, not just for what he’d done to Dave and Rose, but for leaving Dirk in the eye of this total fucking mayhem. He’d probably done it on purpose, _knowing_ that Dirk would be at odds with the council, _knowing_ that he’d have no _true_ power to do absolutely fucking _anything_.

His fist unconsciously clenched around the edge of his pillow.

He sighed and sat up, running a hand through his uncharacteristically limp hair—he’d been worrying at it so much today that it had just… deflated.

They’d decided—without any real discussion—that Dave would sleep in Rose’s room tonight. The kid was already overwhelmed, and just dumping him in his own new quarters and leaving him alone for the night probably wasn’t the best way to calm his nerves. No, best to let him cling to the familiar for the time being. The familiar, in this instance, being Rose. Not to mention, Dirk was pretty sure it was procedure to keep a close eye on someone who had a concussion. Hadn’t Rose mentioned something about a _double_ concussion? Did that just mean… a normal concussion, but twice? Jesus. He needed to pry the story out of Dave in the morning. Needed to get more detail as to what had _actually_ happened at Skaia.

But also, he really just wanted an excuse to actually be able to talk with the little brother he hadn’t seen in twelve years.

He lay back down, fidgeting to get comfortable on the overly soft mattress.

It had been surreal, standing in that doorway and seeing just how _different_ and yet the _same_ he was. And he wore shades, just like Dirk did. Shades to shield those scarlet eyes from the light. He couldn’t help but wonder how those eyes looked, now, behind the shades. Last time Dirk had seen them, they’d been wide and curious, so innocent. He supposed that he himself hadn’t been much different at the time, being a little less than three years older. What would they look like now, after living on the streets? After living as an afterthought, an unnecessary appendage, in the shadow of the Seer of Light in the Temple of Light?

After seeing the battlefield at Skaia, and presumably battling with the demons of the Furthest Ring?

Dirk vaguely had the decency to entertain a twinge of guilt for not having felt anywhere _near_ this conflicted or torn up or whatever he was when he’d first seen Rose, just yesterday evening—gosh, was it only that long ago? He supposed it was just the way their childhoods had gone. Dave had trailed after Dirk a lot as a little kid, and Dirk had often felt responsible for him. _His_ baby brother, with the demonic red eyes and that open, honest face. That, for one, was nothing like the stoic expression he’d seen today, but _god_ did it mirror his own so perfectly. There was a point for nature over nurture, at least—or maybe some sick combination of the both.

He wondered if Roxy had felt this way when Rose had first arrived. If Dirk had made Dave his charge, Roxy and Rose might as well have been glued together. The two of them had gotten up to all sorts of mischief, with Roxy the mastermind in most cases. Stealing cakes from the kitchens, running from attendants at bedtime, playing legendary games of hide-and-seek that lasted _weeks_ —in this palace, as huge and multi-faceted as it was, that wasn’t hard to do. Of course, as Dirk had grown up, the castle seemed to shrink, seeming less massive and inexhaustibly explorable and more like a repetitive labyrinth Except this labyrinth was a fifty-foot structure towering over the city rather than a sprawling dungeon festering below it. He had no Ariadne’s String to help him find his way out, only his own wits to wend him further and further into this suffocating clusterfuck while he just _hoped_ he didn’t stumble into the minotaur’s grasp.

Then again, he supposed, in many ways his father had been the minotaur. And ironically enough, the minotaur had been the first to escape.

At this rate, Dirk felt like escape was off the cards for him. That knowledge pressed down on him, as if his blankets had suddenly become lead. Even when he was no longer Prince Regent, he would be King. And when he was no longer King, he would be dead. That was how it worked.

It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t want to be King, he just didn’t want to be trapped. But he couldn’t see himself ever being anything _but_ trapped and It kept him awake at night.

Eventually, Dirk fell into an uncomfortable and uneasy sleep. He dreamed of being six years old again, of Dave tripping over on the back driveway and scraping his knee and sniffling as Dirk patted his fluffy white-blond hair and a maid gave him a bright red band-aid. Of a time when politics and war and councils had been but distant concepts that he vaguely understood as things he’d have to deal with in the future.

The future had come too soon.

DAVE: im still not entirely sure im not just dreaming


	9. The Matter at Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I rather think that having two Seers working together on the same case may have been a terrible idea,” Kanaya said in an aside to Porrim—but, of course, Terezi heard, because nothing escapes Terezi Pyrope. Nothing._

**i.**

“The evidence from the crime scene—”

“It’s not a crime scene, Terezi!” Kankri interrupted.

“The evidence from the crime scene points to three different potential scenarios surrounding Karkat’s disappearance—all similar, but fundamentally different.”

“Only three?” teased Porrim.

Terezi smirked. “Well, this is Karkat we’re dealing with. Under everything, he’s really quite a predictable guy.”

“Well, none of us predicted this, did we?” Kankri snapped. Clearly he understood perfectly the meaning of “keeping a calm, positive attitude.” The guy was wound up pretty tight, but Terezi supposed she didn’t blame him. It’s not like she herself wasn’t concerned, it’s just that she knew that a good Legislacerator never let her emotions cloud her judgement. Forget the fact that Legislaceration was, these days, merely a relic of the long-dead planet the trolls had inhabited once-upon-a-time. Luckily, trolls were stubborn—Terezi included—and they tended to cling to their vocabulary and customs and everything else as closely as they could, even if it made no sense to. It frustrated the humans to no end, and that was at least fifty percent of why they did it.

Terezi, Kankri, Porrim, and Kanaya were holed up in a corner of a busy tavern down in the lower city. Porrim and Kanaya wore deliciously liquorice-black hoods to hide their faces. It wouldn’t do for the First and High Priestesses to be recognised hanging out in a skeevy bar in the lower town. Regardless of the fact that Porrim practically _lived_ in the lower town most of the time: she ran an… orphanage, of sorts, for grubs who crawled into the city but were never collected. It wasn’t an official establishment, so she ran it separately from her duties in the Pantheon.

From what Terezi knew, the whole thing had started with Kankri, and then Karkat, and a sweep or two later, Porrim decided she might as well just make it A Thing. She’d collected some helpers (many of them jade-blooded, which strangely she seemed to resent) and bought out the entirety of a smallish communal hive stem, and since then, she’d been picking up grubs off the streets and giving them homes. Grubs with missing legs or missing eyes or broken horns; too skinny, too short, not mentally cognizant. Mutants. Rejects. The kinds of grubs that no one else ever picked up, often regardless of blood colour. The kind that would otherwise be left for dead.

Karkat had completely resented it, and made it known to anyone who stood close enough to him for more than a few seconds. And now he had absconded, leaving but the faintest trail of evidence as to _where_ and _why_.

“I am not so sure,” said Kanaya. “I mean, it was plain for anyone to see that he was not happy in Prospit. Perhaps he just needs some breathing room.”

“Yeah, sure, if _breathing room_ doesn’t get him killed! There is a _war_ going on out there, Kanaya, and if he really has headed to Derse—which I _highly_ suspect he has—they are completely and utterly unlikely to show any sort of mercy towards him if they find out he’s Prospitian.”

“Derse doesn’t take civilian prisoners of war,” Terezi reminded him. “Well, not so specifically. They send any and all minor convicts to fight at Skaia. That was their King’s last decree before he disappeared.”

Terezi heard a sharp, frustrated intake of breath from Kanrki, then the rustling of fabric as Porrim put a gentle hand on his arm. Terezi continued. “Back to the matter at hand, however. We should draw the distinction between what we _know_ and what we _suspect_. We _know_ that Karkat has left Prospit. We _suspect_ that he has gone to Derse. His respiteblock was practically untouched. The only things missing were his sickles and a travelling coat. Correct?”

“Yes,” said Kanrki through grit teeth.

“That could mean he left in a hurry, suggesting he decided to leave on a whim. Knowing Karkat, probably in the midst of some tantrum or other.”

She paused. No one said anything. Terezi could feel the eyes of her companions on her. “The other two possibilities are considerably more difficult to distinguish between: he left his stuff mostly as-is because he plans on returning shortly, or because he doesn’t plan on returning at all.”

“How could one scene mean completely opposite situations?” Kankri scoffed. “That’s a logistical impossibility.”

Terezi frowned. “It’s completely possible. You’re talking to the resident Seer of Mind, here, Vantas. Stick to your own aspect. Speaking of which, have you really not been able to See anything pertaining to Karkat?”

Kankri sighed. “No, nothing. It’s quite the unusual circumstance, however—it’s as if there’s some sort of wall in the way whenever I try. I’ve wondered whether this might be indicative of Karkat having some form of his own powers, but he’s still too young. Only Seer and Bard powers have ever been known to activate prior to physical maturity, and there’s no way a Seer or Bard of anything would have the ability to black out another Seer’s Sight. They’re far too passive for such a thing. How about you, Terezi, what have you Seen?”

The cackle that escaped Terezi was uncontrollable and instantaneous. “I haven’t seen anything!” she said gleefully. “How horribly _ableist_ of you, Kankri!”

Kankri spluttered for a moment, then groaned, and Terezi could practically _hear_ his eyes rolling. “I—I apologise. I meant in terms of—”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted, before he could launch into one of his infamous one-person discourses. “And no, I haven’t. Partially because I’ve been busy with kingdom matters and partially because a Seer of Mind’s powers are considerably different from a Seer of Blood’s.”

“I rather think that having two Seers working together on the same case may have been a terrible idea,” Kanaya said in an aside to Porrim—but, of course, Terezi heard, because nothing escapes Terezi Pyrope. Nothing.

Porrim scoffed. “You could be right about that.”

“You’d think as _Seers_ one of us might have actually _seen_ this coming… at least in some fashion, not explicitly literal, of course, due to your impairment,” said Kankri.

“No, no,” Terezi waved a dismissive hand in his general direction. “Seeing things coming is Seer of Light territory. God, Kankri, stop getting your aspects confused.”

“Speaking of Light,” Porrim interjected. “Perhaps we should involve—”

“No,” Kankri and Terezi said in unison.

“She’s unbearably condescending,” elaborated Kankri.

“I don’t trust her. She has an ulterior motive,” explained Terezi, “and she thinks she can hide it. At least Vriska has always been open about her ulterior motives.”

“And god forbid anyone try to hide anything from a Seer of Mind,” Kanaya said.

“Well, exactly,” Terezi said with a slight grin. “Which is another thing that makes me lean towards Karkat’s absconding having been a spur-of-the-moment decision. If it had been meditated, I’m sure I would have sensed something.”

“Unless he’s doing whatever he’s doing to block your Sight as well as Kankri’s?” Porrim suggested.

“No,” said Kankri. “That’s considerably more recent. After I first discovered he was gone, I, in a moment of panic, I must admit, attempted to evoke my Sight in an attempt to locate him. All I got was a glimpse of silver on black stone before it cut out completely—which is why I’m certain he was headed to Derse. Since then, I haven’t been able to See anything relevant to Karkat.”

“Interesting,” Terezi said quietly. “So, when was the last time we all talked to him?”

“The day he disappeared,” Kankri said slowly. “We… we had another argument. Honestly, arguments are all we’ve been having lately, but I’ve been writing it off as adolescent angst. He’s only eight sweeps old, after all. I worry now that I may have misjudged the legitimacy and severity of his feelings, and I worry… well, I worry that I may be part of the reason, if not the whole reason why he’s seen fit to run off, potentially into the arms of the enemy.”

It was silent for a moment, other than the sound of skin on fabric as Porrim rubbed Kankri’s shoulder. “I last spoke to Karkat the day before he disappeared,” she offered. “I asked him what he wanted to eat. He shrugged and then disappeared into his respiteblock. He was still asleep when I left for the Pantheon the next morning.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t spoken to Karkat in over a week,” said Kanaya. “The last I saw of him, he was upset about having his application to the Knight’s Order of Prospit rejected.”

Kankri fidgeted.

“Same here,” Terezi lied. “Kankri, your argument with Karkat didn’t happen to have anything to do with his Knight’s Order application, did it?”

“It… might have.” Kankri sighed. “Alright. That’s exactly what it was about. He put in the application the day after Queen Jane offered me the position in the Circle, and I worried his motives may have revolved around some sort of fraternal jealousy. He’s fiercely loyal to Prospit, as we all know, and as we all are, and I was concerned that my being given a position of such prestige and in direct service to the crown might have made him feel as if he needed to do something of the same kind, in his own way. Except, he simply doesn’t understand how it is up at Skaia. He didn’t think about actually having to go and _fight_ , and… well, it was in my power to prevent my younger brother from rushing into a decision that could possibly get him hurt or killed, and so I vetoed his application. Obviously, he was not best pleased when he found out.”

Terezi hummed. “Maybe you could have just, I don’t know, talked to him?”

“But that’s been completely impossible lately!” Kankri said passionately. “He’s been surly and antisocial, and applying to the Knight’s Order was clearly an impulsive decision made in a fit of adolescent rebellion. I assure you, talking to him would not have helped the situation one bit.”

“You can be a little overbearing sometimes,” Porrim said. “He probably just felt like you were smothering him.”

“This isn’t a group therapy session, guys,” Terezi reminded them with a sigh. “I think it might be best if we leave it here for tonight.”

“I agree,” said Kanaya. “It is difficult to have an objective discussion once emotions start to run high.”

“Right, then,” said Terezi, standing and grabbing her cane from where it leant on the table. “I’ll be returning to my shiny new crown-awarded upper-city dwelling. You really should consider moving in, Kankri. You, too, Kanaya.”

“I find my quarters at the Pantheon to be more than sufficient to my needs,” Kanaya said graciously. “Are you certain you don’t need help getting home in the dark?”

“Nope! The dark means nothing to a blind girl—it’s _always_ dark for me!”

All four of them failed to mention that it wasn’t necessarily the dark itself that posed a danger. It was, decidedly, what _lurked_ in the dark.

 

**ii.**

The doctor flipped the handheld x-ray device closed. “Well, it looks to be nothing more than a hairline fracture,” he said. “I personally wouldn’t have recommended binding your ribs, but battlefield medicine is often… crude. To say the least. Luckily your lungs weren’t compromised. Painkillers every four to six hours should help with the pain so that you can breathe as normally as possible and keep a regular posture. If it gets really bad, icing it should help. As for your head…” The doctor scowled, turning briefly to direct the scowl in Roxy’s direction, too. “Well, you’re _very_ lucky to not have second-impact syndrome, particularly considering the mental and physical stress you’ve been under, not to _mention_ the fact that both impacts caused loss of consciousness. You’re very lucky to be alive. You _should_ have been brought to me as soon as you were within city limits.”

“Yeah, probably, but… I’m fine, right?” Dave said, struggling to pull his shirt back on. Both Roxy and the doctor leaned over to give him a hand, causing an uncomfortable grimace to cross his face.

“That remains to be seen,” said the doctor sternly. “You’re young and fit, so no doubt the physical injury itself will heal in no time. As for neural damage, you may still be experiencing symptoms of post-concussive syndrome months from now.”

“Months? Jesus Christ,” Dave said incredulously. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

The doctor’s grim expression did not budge.

“Well, fuck.”

This drew a small, sardonic smile from the doctor. “Indeed.” He turned to Roxy again. “Call me _immediately_ if he starts displaying any worrying symptoms.”

Roxy frowned. “What do you classify as worrying?”

“His headache should improve with rest, hydration, and painkillers, but anything more severe than what you would expect is cause for concern. Sustained vomiting, for example; further loss of consciousness; spontaneous memory lapses… that sort of thing.”

“Gotcha,” said Roxy, feeling a strange sort of queasiness. Out of sympathy, perhaps? Dave looked pretty damn miserable, hunched over and looking like he wanted to disappear into the black velvet of the private sitting room couch, being poked and prodded at by a complete stranger. Roxy certainly didn’t envy him, but god damn, she’d _just_ gotten her little brother back and she didn’t particularly fancy losing him to the aftereffects of a couple of blows to the head. That would be some cruel form of dramatic irony that not even Dirk would be able to appreciate.

After rattling off a long, long, long list of things that Dave could/couldn’t should/shouldn’t do until his symptoms started to improve, the doctor finally left, leaving a couple of boxes of paracetamol on the coffee table.

Dave sat back on the couch, wincing in a way that suggested he was trying _not_ to wince. He looked up at the screen opposite him. “Well,” he sighed. “If I’m supposed to be taking it easy for the next couple of weeks, the royal fucking palace is as good a place as any.”

Roxy laughed. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “You’re in the lap of luxury now, baby.” She got up and crossed to the kitchenette to fill up a glass of water. “Better get started on your pain-numbing drug-taking regime.”

“S’pose.” Dave shrugged—and winced—and took the glass that was offered to him. A couple of gulps of water and two paracetamol tablets later, and he… looked even more uncomfortable than he had before. “Eugh,” he said. “I’ve never taken pills before. That’s fucking _awful_.”

“I don’t really like ‘em either. My form of pain relief comes in a bottle.” She grinned. “I’d offer you some, but I have the feeling it’d make your neuro-situation worse. Also you’re underage.”

“Aren’t you underage?” Dave asked, setting the glass down on the coffee table.

“Nope! Drinking age is eighteen in Derse.”

“You’re eighteen? Huh.”

“I know, I know, I look younger, huh?”

Dave gave a strange sort of half-shrug, as if he’d gone to shrug and then remembered that he shouldn’t because pain. “Yeah, I guess. I’m not a very good judge of age. Although it feels weird trying to reconcile the fact that you’re apparently my older sister and I didn’t even know how old you are until two fucking seconds ago.”

Roxy smiled wistfully. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected you to remember me. I guess it was kinda selfish. It’s just that… Rose remembers.”

“Yeah.” Dave nodded. “She’s literally the fucking Seer of Light, though.”

“True! And I suppose she doesn’t technically, like, _remember_ remember.”

Dave’s forehead creased slightly above the frames of his shades. Damn, they were sweet shades, but damn did they make it hard to read his expression. He never seemed to take them off, either—unlike Dirk, who only wore his shades _most_ of the time. Dave seemed to wear his _all_ of the time. “What do you mean?”

“Ahh, something long and convoluted and… Light-y. And Seer-y.” Roxy pursed her lips, trying to remember. She may have been a liiiittle bit sloshed when Rose was explaining it to her, but she took pride in mostly remembering the things that happened whilst she was drunk. Mostly. The less said about details the better. “She said something about not actually remembering, but having been shown enough by the Light to know that she needed to return to Derse? Something like that?”

“Huh,” Dave said. “Damn. That lying broad. Whenever I asked her if she remembered, she’d always just give me these vague as fuck answers, like “sometimes”.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I know, right? _So_ frustrating, I tell you, growing up as the twin brother of the Seer of fucking Light.”

“Hey, it’s pretty frustrating being the sister of the Prince fucking Regent, too! The guy’s become stress personified ever since the King decided to fuck off to wherever he’s gone. And damn, he acts like he’s bearing it all by himself whilst exuding this aura of stress which causes anything living within a mile radius to wilt faster than if you’d chucked it in a microwave.”

The corners of Dave’s mouth turned down ever so slightly. “I haven’t really talked to him yet. I guess it’ll be strange.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I probably shouldn’t be talking shit about him. He’s a good guy, really.”

“Gee,” Dave scoffed, “I feel really fucking reassured now.”

Roxy grinned. “You’re welcome!”

Dave was silent for a moment. “Why do you say “the King”?” he asked quietly.

“Huh?” Roxy wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

“I mean, like… he’s your… uh, _our_ father, right? Fuck, that’s a weird thing to consider. But you just call him the King, and not, like, “dad,” or “father,” even.”

“Ah.” Whatever vestiges of a grin remained on Roxy’s face faded into an uncharacteristic scowl. She could never help but scowl whenever she thought about _him_. “Well, I guess it’s probably lucky you don’t remember some things. Although I doubt he even interacted with you or Rose even once. He was never much of a father, Dave.”

“What did he do?”

“He was…” Roxy sighed, wondering if this was really the right time to go delving into the deep, dark history of the Strider-Lalonde royal family of Derse. Ah, fuck it, why not? “He was the reason you and Rose disappeared.”

Dave stared at her. “So, what, he’s the reason the earliest thing I remember is living on the streets in some shithole?”

“Indirectly, yeah.”

“Indirectly? What does _that_ mean?”

“Ugh.” Roxy let out a frustrated groan. “It’s a long story, right? So if you don’t have anything better to do I might as well just dive right into it.”

“I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Good. Okay. So it started when you and Rose were born. I don’t really remember it myself, since I was only two at the time. Dirk was about to turn three.” She took a deep breath. “The King had never been anything more than a sperm-donor, basically, and he never would be. And our mother was never anything more to him than a pretty face to give him an heir and a couple of spares—except, of course, spare number two ended up being literally two babies.”

“No one counted on twins, huh?” Dave interjected. “Double the trouble, but twice as nice.”

“Yeah… definitely double the trouble. So anyway, you and Rose were born, everything was fine, and then, a couple of hours later, our mother was dead.”

“Like… from childbirth?”

Roxy shook her head. “No. The birth went fine. The midwife has told us the story plenty of times: you popped out first, then a couple of minutes later, right after midnight, Rose came along.”

“So I _am_ the oldest!” Dave said. “Fuckin’ knew it. Wait… does that mean we technically have different birthdays, too?”

“Technically, yeah.”

“Aw, sweet. Sorry, continue.”

“Sure.” Roxy offered him a smile. “I kinda forgot that you wouldn’t have any way of knowing even _that_ … ugh, that just makes me even angrier! _Anyway_ , everything went fine, and then a couple of hours later, she was just dead. And the King didn’t even _care_. He didn’t even come to the funeral.”

“Harsh.”

“Damn fuckin’ right it was harsh. Half of Derse showed up. I was there, and Dirk was there, and even you and Rose were there and we were looked after by about ten different attendants, but the fucking King didn’t even bother to show up to his own wife’s funeral. Dirk and I didn’t really understand it at the time, but I think _part_ of us must’ve, because after that we gave up thinking we could ever get his attention. And, like… damn, we’d lost our mother, but we had a brand new adorable little baby brother and sister, so we just kind of… preoccupied ourselves with you. Tried to help out the attendants and stuff, though looking back I think we probably just got in the way more than anything.

“So the man who we’d once hoped might be a dad to us was rapidly demoted to distant father figure, and then… and then, four years later, he became our King and nothing more.” Roxy paused to take a deep, steadying breath. “When I had just turned six, the King employed a pretty prolific Bard of Doom to help him, I don’t know, squash out any threats to him or something? I only saw the guy a couple of times. He was kinda like a… grimdark jester. Real creepy guy, but he made all these esoteric prophecies, and he was known for being, like, _scarily_ accurate.”

“I thought prophecies were Seer territory?”

Roxy shrugged. “I don’t claim to know much about classes and aspects… never really bothered to learn, since I’m pretty sure _I_ don’t have any kind of special powers.”

“Yeah, me neither,” said Dave. “Figured Rose was always the talented twin.”

“Hey, you’re still young. Supposedly most classes’ powers don’t awaken until maturity. I think only a few classes start showing powers at a young age? Seers are one, of course, and I think Bards are another. I think what Bards do is kind of… _allow_ for the destruction of things pertaining to their aspect? Via prophecies, I guess. And this Bard of Doom would always make these super depressing-sounding prophecies about various kinds of Doom so that anyone able to actually fucking _interpret_ them could, I guess, _destroy_ that doom. So the King employed him to make prophecies about potential threats to his crown so that he could then march up and squash them. Except… there was one prophecy… well, there’s no written record of it or anything. Any record of it was destroyed once it was supposedly _dealt with_.”

“Let me guess,” said Dave, “this prophecy had something to do with me and Rose.”

Roxy sighed. “Yes. It somehow implied that you and Rose ultimately spelled doom for either him or the kingdom, I don’t know. So he… he made a deal with an infamous Witch to take care of you. And I mean ‘take care of’ in as euphemistically malicious a way as can be humanly possible.”

“Got it,” Dave said softly. “Take care of as in _take care of_ , not, like, take _care_ of.”

“Um… sure. But for some reason she didn’t actually kill you, obviously. I guess she just stole your memories and dumped you on the streets of… Lohac, it sounded like?”

“Is that what that place was called?”

“Sounds like it. It’s the clockwork capital of the kingdom. It was built right over a magma field at the foot of an active volcano.”

“No wonder it was so fucking hot all the time,” Dave said.

“I can imagine. So, yeah, not actually killing you apparently wasn’t part of the deal. For a year everyone thought you were dead… illness is what they told the kingdom, but Dirk and I knew that wasn’t the case. One moment you’d been there, and the next you’d disappeared, and none of the attendants would tell us anything, and they seemed more… more _angry_ than sad, you know? I don’t know how, but we just _knew_ the King was behind it.”

“So that was when you gave up any hope of him being your father.”

“Pretty much. Anyway, we spent a _year_ seething in anger towards him, thinking you were dead, when the Bard of Doom spouted another prophecy.” Roxy closed her eyes, summoning the lines that she had long since committed to memory—she’d spent _hours_ in the Temple archives poring over them, trying to figure out just what they meant. They came to her lips more easily than her own name: “When years match months, and days align, once more shall they cross the line. Return the Seer, return the Knight, to set the fuse of fate alight.”

She opened her eyes. Dave was peering at her, a small frown on his face—at least it looked like he was peering at her. Once again: shades.

“Knight?” he said quietly. “Is that supposed to be me? Obviously Rose is the Seer.”

Roxy shrugged. “I guess. I mean, from what Rose has said, you’re pretty damn handy with a sword, right?”

He looked away sheepishly. “Yeah. I guess. It’s not like I had royal training or anything.”

“Actually,” Roxy said, smirking, “I’d be interested to see how you’d fare against Dirk.”

“Might be a while until that can happen,” said Dave, gesturing in one downwards-sweeping motion to both his head and his ribs. “Not supposed to be partaking in strenuous physical activity for a while, remember? Then after that it’ll be _another_ while until I’m back up to scratch—with something like sword fighting, you really have to keep on it _every damn day_ , you know? Otherwise you lose muscle tonage and… you don’t really care, do you?”

“Honey, I’ve heard all this and more from Dirk about a thousand fucking times,” Roxy giggled.

“Right,” Dave smirked. “Okay, sorry. So what happened with this obviously super accurate prophecy?”

“Well, for one thing, clearly the King immediately interpreted the Seer and the Knight as being Rose and you, so he got pissy that you were still alive, executed the Bard, and _tried_ to kill the Witch, but she managed to avoid him somehow. So he just brought back the old ban on witchcraft instead, which was super unfair of him.”

“Sounds like a pretty volatile dude.”

“Yeah. Be glad you don’t remember him.”

“What’s with that, anyway? What kind of aspect would allow a Witch to steal someone’s _memories_?” Dave scratched his head. “Not that I can claim to know much about any of that bullshit. I know more about Light than I ever wanted to thanks to Rose, but I’m totally clueless about literally everything else.”

“Honestly, I never really paid attention to that shit when our tutors covered it. Figured it didn’t really effect me. Dirk probably drank it up like a dehydrated whale, though.”

“A dehydrated whale? Damn, but that analogy really creates one hell of a mental image.”

Roxy laughed. “Fuck yeah it does! Anyway, I suppose that’s pretty much the whole story. For the past eleven years I obsessed over the prophecy and tried to figure out what it meant, or if it really referred to you and Rose at all, while Dirk was his party-pooper self as always, telling me that we “shouldn’t get our hopes up” and blah, blah, blah, look who was right in the end!” With both arms, she gestured excitedly towards Dave. “Here you are! Dizzy and confused and ready to fuck shit up!”

Dave grinned. “Fuck yeah.” His gaze drifted down towards his feet. “I guess… I guess finding out I have an older sister is pretty cool, too. I guess.”

_Don’t you dare fuckin’ cry_ , Roxy told herself, as a lump formed in her throat. She leaned over and grabbed Dave’s hand. “Yeah,” she said, in one explosive breath of air somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “I guess having my little brother back is cool, too. I guess.”

TEREZI: B4CK TO TH3 M4TT3R 4T H4ND, HOW3V3R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I generally prefer to stay at least two chapters ahead of whatever chapter I'm posting. I am... currently not two chapters ahead. I'm barely a chapter and a half ahead. But I wanted to post this since I'm going away for the weekend, and I'm not sure I'll get the opportunity to post another chapter until I get home on Tuesday. Depends on if I actually do any writing while I'm away.
> 
> Also, I've been kinda eager to post this chapter. I really like it. There's not a whole lot of plot going on, but I enjoyed writing that conversation between Dave and Roxy. I love them both so much. They are great. Yes. I love them. I had a dream last night in which I was literally Dave. There are some concerning implications there (help me I'm in too deep), but it was a v. nice dream anyway.


	10. If You Want to Get Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _To distract herself, she opened the chat module on her glasses with a great sniff that gathered the scent of the city around her—golden sweetcorn and sugar cubes, with the teensiest hint of lime, undercut by the obvious, considerably less pleasant scents of wood smoke, drying paint, cement._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very minor CW: implied/referenced drug/alcohol abuse.
> 
> In other news, ten chapters! Hooray!

**i.**

Terezi knew she was being followed for a long while before she decided to address the problem. She thought that maybe if she ignored him long enough, he might go away. He had to have known that she knew he was there—he wasn’t exactly the quietest of stalkers, and from the heaviness of his breathing, she could tell that he was probably too doped up to really care.

But she didn’t want to deal with him, so she ignored him as long as she could. To distract herself, she opened the chat module on her glasses with a great sniff that gathered the scent of the city around her—golden sweetcorn and sugar cubes, with the teensiest hint of lime, undercut by the obvious, considerably less pleasant scents of wood smoke, drying paint, cement.

Karkat wasn’t online. Of course he wasn’t. She sent him a message anyway.

\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] \--  
  
GC: K4RK4T?  
GC: 1 KNOW TH3 L1K3L1HOOD OF YOU G3TT1NG TH1S M3SS4G3 1S PR3TTY SL1M  
GC: 4ND 1 KNOW TH3 L1K3L1HOOD OF YOU R3SPOND1NG 1S PROB4BLY 3V3N SL1MM3R  
GC: BUT YOU COULD 4T L34ST L3T US KNOW TH4T YOU’R3 S4F3  
GC: OK?  
GC: K4NKR1S WORR13D, K4N4Y4S WORR13D, PORR1MS WORR13D  
GC: 4ND... 1M WORR13D  
GC: K4NKR1 TH1NKS YOU L3FT B3C4US3 YOU 4ND H1M GOT 1NTO 4N 4RGUM3NT 4BOUT TH3 KN1GHTS ORD3R  
GC: 4ND M4YB3 TH4TS P4RT OF TH3 R34SON  
GC: BUT 1V3 B33N TRY1NG TO F1GUR3 OUT WHY YOU WOULD W4NT TO JO1N TH3 ORD3R 1N TH3 F1RST PL4C3, 3SP3C14LLY 4FT3R 4LL TH4T STUFF YOU S41D 4BOUT TH3M B3ING M1NDL3SS B4TTL3 M4CH1N3S W1TH D34TH W1SH3S  
GC: OR SOM3TH1NG ALONG THOS3 L1N3S  
GC: 4ND 1 C4NT H3LP BUT F33L L1KE 1T M1GHT H4V3 B33N B3C4US3 OF WH4T 1 S41D TO YOU  
GC: SO... 1M R34LLY SORRY OK4Y?  
GC: 1 KNOW TH4T TH1NGS 4R3NT 34SY FOR YOU 4ND 1 SUPPOS3 1 W4S JUST FRUSTR4T3D 4ND 1 R34LLY R3GR3T WH4T 1 S41D  
GC: 4ND 1 UND3RST4ND 1F YOU W4NT TO G3T 4W4Y FROM PROSP1T, 1 DO!!   
GC: 1... 1 UND3RST4ND 1F YOU W4NT TO G3T 4W4Y FROM M3 FOR 4 WH1L3  
GC: BUT PL34S3 JUST L3T US KNOW YOU H4V3NT GOTT3N YOURS3LF C4PTUR3D OR K1LL3D OR SOM3TH1NG S1LLY L1K3 TH4T  
GC: 1LL K33P L34V1NG M3SS4G3S 3V3RY D4Y UNT1L YOU DO!!!  
GC: TH1S 1S 4 THR34T 1 H4V3 3V3RY 1NT3NT1ON OF FOLLOW1NG THROUGH ON K4RK4T >:]  
GC: SO W4TCH OUT!!  
GC: 4LR1GHT  
GC: 1 SHOULD GO  
GC: PL34S3 M3SS4G3 M3 B4CK SOON  
  
\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG] \-- 

Terezi closed the module.

She was still being followed.

“Makara,” she said, stopping, “I know you’re there.”

“Aww,” came Gamzee’s gravelly drawl from much closer to her right side than she had anticipated, “looks like you motherfuckin’ caught me.”

Terezi refused to move away as she felt-heard-smelled him draw closer. “What do you want?” she snapped.

“Can’t a motherfucker catch up with an old friend? I mean, fuck, now we’re both employees of the motherfuckin’ royal castle, Terezi.”

Now he was _far_ too close for comfort, practically breathing down the side of her neck—which must have meant he was leaning down towards her; he was at least a head taller than her otherwise. She couldn’t help herself: she stepped away and brandished her cane in his direction.

“What would the Queen think if she knew her mother’s beloved jester was co-proprietor of Prospit’s underground drug empire?” she growled.

He stepped closer, uncaring of the cane pressing into his jugular. “Oh man, but what would the Queen think if she knew her motherfuckin’ Legislacerator all up and had some _dark_ history with the co-proprietor of Prospit’s underground drug empire?” He leaned closer. Terezi could smell his breath; human booze and sopor slime, intermingling into a stench so rancid she wanted to puke. “And I’m no jester, motherfucker. I’m a motherfuckin’ _Bard_.”

“Go home, Gamzee,” Terezi said, leaning away from the smell of his breath. “Sober up for once in your life, and _then_ we can talk.”

He stepped away. Terezi lowered her cane cautiously. He kept retreating.

“No can motherfuckin’ do,” he said quietly. Then, at lower volume still, “You wouldn’t like me sober.”

With much more stealth than he’d employed whilst following Terezi, he disappeared into the labyrinthine side-alleys of Prospit’s lower city.

“I miss the old you,” she whispered into the perpetual darkness. The smell of Gamzee’s fetid breath lingered in her nostrils, making this one of the rare occasions where she truly felt blind.

 _Karkat_ , she thought, _where the fuck are you?_

 

**ii.**

So maybe, when Dave told Roxy that he had a killer sense of direction and needed no help whatsoever finding his way back to the shiny new quarters he’d been introduced to that morning, just maybe he’d been lying a little bit.

Or, you know, lying a _lot_ , because right now he was totally fucking lost.

 _“It’s not that far away from here,”_ he’d said. _“I’m bound to find it eventually, right?”_

Lies. Fucking lies.

“Aw, _fuck_ this,” he muttered to himself, turning and trying to retrace his steps for about the three hundredth fucking time. Fuck. He didn’t even have his comms device on him—he’d left it charging in Rose’s quarters, and he had no fucking clue where to find _that_ either.

“Should have worn the god damn circlet,” he chastised himself. “I mean, I’d feel like a tool but fucking Christ at least then I’d actually be able to ask someone to tell me where the fuck I am. Actually, fuck, there’d probably be, like, a map module on there or something to actually help me find my own fucking way around this _god damn_ —”

Dave rounded a corner into a catastrophic fucking collision with someone walking in the opposite direction. He stumbled back, hand automatically going to his head as his headache was kick-started back into existence.

“Fuck! Sorry!” he said, at the same time as the other guy said, “Shit! You okay?”

He looked up. In the least unexpected plot twist of the century, he’d literally run straight into Dirk. The Prince Regent was wearing his weird pointy triangle shades and a small frown, one arm half outstretched towards Dave in an awkward, uncertain gesture. The thing he looked totally unaffected by was the fact that Dave had just barrelled straight into him.

“Uh, yeah,” Dave said, feeling about as awkward as Dirk looked. “God damn, dude, you’re built like a fuckin’ brick wall.”

Dirk lowered his hand to his side. “I’m… not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.”

“Or you could do the unexpected thing and actually turn into a brick wall,” Dave suggested. “That’d throw me for a fuckin’ loop.”

“Would it really be unexpected to you seeing as how you were the one to suggest it? Assuming we ignore the impossibility of literally turning into a brick fucking wall.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.”

“It’d be more unexpected if I were to spontaneously burst into song or song or something, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess,” Dave repeated, going to shrug before remembering that shrugging was painful. The painkillers had sort of done their job, but not really. Breathing was still a chore and so was literally everything that needed the use of his head—which was literally everything.

“You look lost,” Dirk observed.

“Uh, yeah,” Dave said, continuing the trend of sounding like a fucking broken record. “I… may have completely forgotten where my quarters are? Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe as in definitely.”

“Well. They’re right there.” Dirk hooked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the door right behind him.

“In that case,” Dave said slowly. “I didn’t forget anything. I’m totally where I’m supposed to be and where I wanted to be.”

A single corner of Dirk’s mouth turned upwards into something that was _almost_ a smirk, but he still managed to make the expression look super serious. “Of course. I can totally believe that. For reference, my quarters are just down there.” He pointed down the hall Dave had just come down.

Dave looked. It was the only door along the whole hallway, and he’d completely failed to notice it before. He started to doubt whether or not he’d been tracing his footsteps at all, because none of this looked the slightest bit familiar anyway.

“Well, I officially feel like an idiot,” he sighed.

“Don’t worry about it. This place is worse than a labyrinth.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m just used to it, after nineteen years.”

“Yeah,” Dave agreed. “That would just about do it. Well, fuck, looks like I’m going to be getting lost in this place until I’m well into my thirties.” The enormity of what he was saying didn’t strike him until after it was all the way out of his mouth. “Aw, fucking Christ. I don’t even want to think about that.”

Dirk huffed empathetically. “What, being in your thirties or being here for nineteen years? As someone who’s already done the latter, I can tell you it was a fuckin’ drag a lot of the time, but that’s just my admittedly skewed perception.”

Dave blinked. When he said stuff like that (minus the cussing), Dirk unerringly reminded him of Rose. It was uncanny, and a little freaky. “Both,” he said. “I don’t know, you’d think that if I really spent the first four years of my life here it’d register in some kind of unconscious part of that brain-seahorse thing that controls memory. Like, you can’t really _delete_ memories, only make them inaccessible in whatever way. Then you always see those lame rom-com motion pictures where the main character has amnesia but then, like, their forgotten lover takes them back to the place they met or whatever and everything comes flooding back, right? But there’s nothing like that happening here.”

Dirk was silent for a moment, just watching him—as a wearer of shades, Dave liked to think he knew how to interpret the emotions of a fellow shades-wearer. Admittedly it was harder than he thought. Like, a lot harder.

“Would you like to see the place where _we_ first met?” he finally said, his delivery totally deadpan.

A laugh escaped Dave. “That would be… kind of ironic.”

“I know,” Dirk said with a _definite_ smirk. “That’s why I suggested it. Obviously I’m no forgotten lover, but forgotten brother is a good enough substitution, no?”

Dave smirked back. “I think I can definitely believe the brother part. Only my own flesh and blood could ever come up with something of such a transcendent level of irony.”

“Or understand it,” Dirk added, punctuating his statement with an ironically brotherly but gentle punch to Dave’s shoulder. It was incredible. “So? Ready for every drop of those crucial four years of memory to come rushing back like a school of brain-seahorses surfing a tidal wave?”

“Hell. Fucking. Yes.”

 

The room was similar to the sitting room, but smaller. There were no windows, and, more noticeably, absolutely no furniture to speak of. It was just a big empty box, and the lights didn’t even work so it was illuminated only by the light seeping in through the open door into the hallway.

“The King had every trace of you and Rose erased from the palace,” Dirk said quietly, standing in the doorway. Dave had taken a few steps forward into the dark, dusty, desolate room, as if waiting for something to happen. For memories, he supposed, mentally cringing to himself when he realised he had at least been sincere in his hope that he might actually remember something. He realised that Dirk had been, too, when he said, “It doesn’t look anything like it used to, so…”

Dave shook his head slowly. He felt… _something_. But it wasn’t familiarity, or memory. It was a cold, hard, stone of an emotion lodged in his gut. Some fucked up love child of dread and sorrow. It was strange and unpleasant.

“Well,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, but almost whispering the word. It was as if the room itself clung to the quiet, muffling anything within it that tried to make sound. “I guess the only true way to complete the ironic motion picture reenactment shtick was for it to not work in the slightest.” He turned and looked at Dirk, silhouetted against the bright light shining in from the hallway; features unreadable.

“Yeah,” Dirk agreed. “But sometimes… just, fuck irony sometimes, you know?”

The stone in Dave’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. He took towards Dirk; back towards the hallway, back towards the light. “Hey… so, uh, Roxy said it was a Witch that stole mine and Rose’s memories.”

“Apparently so,” Dirk confirmed, shifting his weight from foot to foot in what might have been discomfort. “No one knows why, though.”

“Yeah, I know, I was just wondering how. I mean, what kind of aspect would enable a Witch to completely wipe away someone’s memories like that?” He took another step forward. The stone twisted again. He felt ill.

“Hm. Good question. Probably quite a few, but the Witch in question was a Witch of—” he stopped midsentence. In the same moment, Dave’s stomach twisted yet again and the feeling became almost unbearable.

“Of what?” Dave prompted, to no response. It was as if Dirk had just frozen in place—he was as still as a statue, his fingers completely static at his sides, his shoulders and chest not even shifting with breath. He took a couple more steps forwards, stretching out a trembling hand. “Dirk?”

“—Time. Whoa, did you just flashstep?”

Dave didn’t reply, he was too distracted with thoughts of _what the fuck just happened??_ flying through his mind like startled pigeons.

“Dave?” Dirk asked cautiously. “Are you okay? You look… pale.”

Dave ran his already-raised hand through his hair, then lowered it to his side. “Y-yeah,” he said. “I just… I’m… I think this room is messing with my head.” He laughed, overloud and nervous and obviously forced. “Maybe it _is_ triggering my memory, huh!”

“Uh, sure.” Dirk moved out of the doorway. Dave could feel his eyes on him as he stepped back into the hall, but Dirk didn’t say anything until he’d closed the door. “Are you sure you’re okay? You really don’t look good. Is it… is it your head?” His concern was tinged with awkward, as if he didn’t quite know how to be concerned and was just winging it.

“Yeah. Probably. That’d be it,” Dave said, not feeling all that much better even now he was out of that room and back in the light. What the _fuck_ had just happened there? He’d pass it off as some fucked up side effect of getting his head smashed in one too many times if not for the fact that Dirk had noticed Dave having moved between freezing and unfreezing. He… he had, right? He’d said something? Right?

Shit. Maybe he _was_ just going crazy.

“I guess I just need some rest,” he said.

“Okay,” said Dirk. “Do you need me to take you back to your quarters?”

Dave managed a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks. Rather not risk getting lost again.”

 

**iii.**

Things were finally starting to look up for the kingdoms, in Jade’s reckoning. For Prospit and Derse both.

She remembered a time when she was so naïve as to have a very polarised view of the world: Prospit was good, and Derse was bad. Now that she was all of seventeen years old, she knew that there was no good and bad. There were only people, nature, and magic. That was simply the truth of it. Although, sometimes she thought that maybe John, despite being less than a year her junior, still saw Prospit as ‘good’ and Derse as ‘bad’, but the Furthest Ring to him was ‘worse’, warranting it necessary to work with the ‘bad’ people for the time being. He’d often privately expressed his doubts about the fact that Jake and Jane were friends with the prince and princess of Derse.

“You can never really tell a person’s true personality from the internet, can you?” he reasoned to Jade one evening. “I mean, they might _seem_ friendly, sure, but you never know when they might turn around and stab Jane and Jake right in the backs!”

“Well you could say that about anyone,” Jade reasoned.

“Yeah, but,” he shrugged. “It’s different over the internet.”

Jade raised an incredulous eyebrow at him. “Do you think TG or TT would ever turn around and stab _us_ in the backs?”

John frowned. “Well… I don’t _think_ they would…”

“You never know,” she said with an airy shrug. “Maybe they’re Dersian.”

John scoffed. “No way,” he said. “There’s no way any Dersians could even _pretend_ to be as cool as them.”

With a gleeful giggle, Jade said, “I’m totally gonna tell TG that you just admitted he was cool!!”

“What!” John looked as if he’d just been smacked. “Don’t you dare! I take it back, he’s super lame!”

“Too laaaate!” Jade sang.

She hoped forming a truce with Derse might help John drop his archaic notions of polarisation. At this morning’s roundtable—with only a day in-between this one and the last one—the Circle would be hearing Derse’s response to Prospit’s invitation.

Jane introduced Sollux, who accordingly stood up to deliver the message from Derse.

“The Prince Regent of Derse sends his regards to the newly crowned Queen,” he read in his usual lisp. Jade glanced over to Jane, who showed no reaction whatsoever to the formal well-wishes from her close friend. She was good at this Queenly business, really. Jade wished she could be half as good at being a princess, illegitimate though she might be.

Sollux continued: “Regretfully, Derse cannot accept her Majesty’s gracious invitation.” A low grumble went around the table. “They instead offer a similar invitation in return.” A louder grumble went around the table, this time of confusion. “His Highness the Prince Regent of Derse, in lieu of his Majesty the King of Derse due to his absence, cordially invites a small party of delegates to stay at the Royal Palace of Derse, promised full diplomatic immunity for the duration of their stay in the capital city, for the purpose of negotiating and coming to an agreement on the terms of a truce concerning the ongoing fighting between the two honoured kingdoms on the battlefield at Skaia.” Sollux paused to take a breath. Jade didn’t blame him—that was one hell of a mouthful! “Additionally, the Prince Regent apologises for having to go about these discussions in such a, and I quote, “ridiculously and unnecessarily fucking convoluted fashion”.”

Yet another grumble went around the table—a bit of laughter, a bit of disapproval. Even Jane couldn’t deny a smile from creeping up her face: Jade meanwhile, couldn’t stifle a giggle, and she could see Jake cover his mouth with his hand. John just looked bemused. Across the table, Jade could see Terezi’s wide piranha grin next to Kanaya’s peaceful smirk on one side and Kankri’s haughty expression on the other. Jade couldn’t help but think that maybe Terezi knew about the friendship between the royals of Prospit and Derse—had Jane told her? Or had she figured it out for herself? That didn’t seem beyond the scope of abilities of a Seer of Mind, but, then again, she couldn’t actually _read_ minds. But then, did Kankri know, too? As Seer of Blood, he was able to see connections between people or… something, wasn’t he? Or were Derse’s Prince and Princess too far away for the ‘connection’ or whatever to be visible?

Jade was only really beginning to understand classes and aspects. She’d never much cared to learn about them before. Her tutor at the Pantheon had told her, “no one ever does until it becomes relevant to them,” and in Jade’s case, that was very much true. After the roundtable ended, she was planning to go out onto the lawns with some marbles and practice growing and shrinking them!

Oh, right, the roundtable. That was happening. Anyway:

“There’s something undeniably _Dersian_ about this entire gambit,” said Aranea. “Is it too hard for them to swallow their pride long enough to set foot in a foreign city?”

“Well,” said Terezi, still grinning that signature grin of hers. “The Prince Regent _did_ apologise.”

Aranea frowned. “And yet he has done little but offer us exactly what we offered him.”

“He isn’t the King, you know,” said Jake, the faintest hint of irritation present in his intonation. “He doesn’t have quite the same sway over his councillors that Jane here has over us.”

“It hardly matters,” Jane said quickly, shooting Jake a warning glance. “They’re open to the idea of a truce, and that is what matters, is it not?”

A mutter of agreement rippled through the circle.

Jane nodded curtly. “Good. Then any further details are heretofore insignificant. We, holding considerably more grace than Derse, will accept the invitation, and so we must now discuss and decide who of you will represent me in Derse.”

John cocked his head. “You’re not going?” he asked.

“Oh, no, of course not,” she said. “I still have a kingdom to run.”

“Not to mention,” Aranea broke in, “her Majesty visiting Derse before a truce has been decided upon would be far too much of a show of subservience—particularly considering that Derse’s King is not even currently present in his own kingdom.”

“I suppose I should go, then?” Jake ventured. “I mean, as second in line to the throne and betrothed of her Majesty the Queen.”

“That’s a good idea,” Jane replied.

“Indeed,” agreed Terezi. “Just the right level of important to not offend the Dersians, but second-rate enough to show them that we still don’t think all _that_ much of them.”

“Naturally, this means you’ll be leader of the party,” Jane continued.

Jake gulped. “Oh, I… yes, yes, of course it will. I can most certainly handle that. What an adventure it will be!” he muttered. Mostly to himself, Jade thought.

“Personally, I think I’ll abstain,” said Terezi. “As a Seer of Mind, I’ll be of more use here. However, you know what kind of Seer would be utterly _invaluable_ for trying to build inter-kingdom relationships?”

Kankri started and looked at her. “Me?” he said in surprise. Then he coughed, and said, “Um, yes, me, of course. Seer of Blood. My abilities ought to be of some use in the negotiations, if you’ll approve the addition of myself to the delegate party, your Majesty.”

“Of course,” Jane agreed. “Like Terezi said, your contributions ought to be invaluable. You’ll be foremost advisor to Jake.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.” Kankri bowed his head reverently.

“Kanaya, do you wish to represent Prospit’s Pantheon in Derse?” Jane asked the First Priestess.

Kanaya bowed her head—in similar fashion to Kankri, but with an additional level of grace because… well, because she was Kanaya. Jade had always held Kanaya’s elegance and fashion sense in high esteem. “I would be honoured, my Queen. I have a desire to learn the ways of Derse’s Temples, so, if I may…?”

“I’m sure the Prince Regent would be amenable to allowing you to visit the Temple during your stay,” Jane assured her. “Very well. So the party so far consists of Jake, Kankri, Kanaya, and, of course, Sollux, as the foremost messenger and diplomat of the two kingdoms.”

“Of course, your Majesty,” agreed Sollux. “Thank you, your majesty.”

Jane nodded. “Now, that’s a modest but reasonable party. Is there anyone else who would wish to join?”

“I’ll go!” Jade said before she could stop herself. John’s head whipped in her direction… as did pretty much everyone else. There were some _seriously_ disapproving expressions on the faces of some of the more senior members of the Circle—most of them remnants of the previous Queen’s Circle—but Jade didn’t see _them_ offering to help out.

Jake smiled at her, and Jane nodded again and said, “Yes, very well, I don’t see a problem with that.”

Jade grinned. Oh, this should be fun!

“ _I_ do,” said Terezi. “I don’t think Derse will be very pleased with us if we send a budding Witch to a peace negotiation.”

Jade’s grin disappeared. “What? Why?”

“Oh, yes. Of course. I’m sorry, Jade,” Jane sighed. “I forgot. Witchcraft is still banned in Derse.”

“But… I don’t have to use my powers! I can hide the fact that I’m a Witch!” Jade insisted.

“Which will just make it worse when they find out,” said Terezi grimly.

“She’s right, Jade, you’re not safe if you go,” John said passionately. “Plus, you could compromise the entire mission if you’re found out. It, uh, doesn’t do to lie to people we want to be friends with, does it?”

“It’s not a ‘mission’,” muttered Kankri, though he largely went ignored.

“I guess you’re right,” Jade said, looking down at her hands. Then an idea came to mind, and another smile started to creep back up across her lips. “You should go instead of me, John!” she said enthusiastically.

“Wh-what?” he said, taken aback.

“Yes, that’s a wonderful idea,” Jane agreed. “Alright then. We have our delegates. Circle dismissed.”

“H-hey! I didn’t agree to this!” John protested.

Terezi let out a gleeful cackle from across the table. “Gotta do as her Majesty says, you know, John!”

“No one asked you!” he called after her as she cackled all the way to the door. “Jade! Why did you do that?”

“You’ll have fun!” Jade insisted. “Trust me. And you’ll see that Dersians aren’t _nearly_ as bad as you think they are.”

“How would you know?” he grumbled. “Not like you’ve ever met one.”

“You’re right, I haven’t,” she replied with a blissful shrug. “I guess it’s just this hunch I have.”

GC: 4ND 1 UND3RST4ND 1F YOU W4NT TO G3T AW4Y FROM PROSP1T, 1 DO!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the gap between posting the last chapter and posting this one is the biggest so far. Oops. Hopefully we don't have to repeat that again--posting a chapter every other day at least helps me feel somewhat accomplished. That being said, I'm still not as far ahead as I'd like to be, but I wanted to post this because it's been nearly a week since chapter 9. However, I wrote more while I was away than I expected to! I'm still over a chapter ahead. Like... a chapter and one third of a chapter ahead.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter in particular is kinda dense. It at least briefly touches on every single narrative thread currently active in the story, which is... quite a number. Because I'm incapable of just writing a straightforward kingdom AU. It has to be intricate and convoluted to the nth degree. This is true of everything I write, unfortunately.
> 
> (EDIT: As soon as I posted this chapter I noticed that there were exactly 413 hits and it felt like a significant enough thing to mention. And dw I totally screencapped it like a fucking nerd.)


	11. No Offense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Holy fucking shit,” Karkat said aloud._   
>  _Nepeta, trailing behind him, looked over. “Ooh, I know, right! I didn’t know we had another purrince and purrincess! And they’re twins! Soooo cuuuute.”_

**i.**

_I am an idiot_ , Karkat told himself. _I am the biggest fucking idiot of a troll that ever wriggled its way out of the wriggling caves and through the gates of Prospit._

Two days after quite cheerfully telling Commander Peixes, “Hey, yes! I will totally stick around and fight an unwinnable war on the side of my enemies! That sounds like a fantastic _fucking_ idea!” Karkat was seriously regretting his existence.

For some reason, he’d been idiot enough to think that making a good impression on the Battle Commander, building up some rapport with her, would make his life on the frontlines a little easier. He was wrong. So wrong. So _fucking_ wrong. He hadn’t even seen Meenah since that first day. Sure, she’d done him a favour by absolving him of convict status and giving him the actual legitimate rank of ‘cadet’ (wow! Fucking incredible!), but that hadn’t made him much better off. Instead of being with fellow likely-innocent people who didn’t want to be here as much as Karkat now decided he didn’t, he was shuffled into one of the considerably smaller squads with seven idiots who, for some inscrutable reason, had _chosen_ to be there.

_Don’t pretend like you’re not just like them,_ said the voice in his head which was totally not his own but also definitely his own. _You were so fucking ready to join the Knight’s Order and be stuck in the same damn position on the other side of the battle lines_.

_That was different, though_ , he told himself, and maybe he even believed it.

His squad was the smallest, and, as he understood it, the second squad of the third platoon of the second company of the first battalion of the first regiment of Derse’s army, under Captain Eridan Ampora. Dersian military structures were so weird—for some reason, the rank of Captain was right below Vice Commander, making it the third-highest of the hierarchy. Karkat knew a thing or two about Prospitian military structures, and the rank of Captain _there_ was one of the lowest officer ranks. Maybe Derse’s unusual rankings had something to do with the nautical inclinations of two of Derse’s highest-ranking officers. Yeah. That was probably it. Fucking sea-dwellers.

Fortunately, however, Captain Ampora’s regiment had been tasked with reasserting Derse’s line of defence against the Furthest Ring. Fortunate only because Karkat really didn’t think he’d be able to bring himself to fight his own people. Admittedly, he’d entertained the thought that being close enough to the front lines would provide him with the opportunity to sneak across and be with his _own_ people… if they didn’t shoot him on sight, that is. If he could get close enough to Commander Vriska, she was sure to recognise him. Then she would tell…

Okay, fuck, shut down _that_ line of thought.

Being in Captain Ampora’s regiment also meant that they were at least able to stay at HQ when they weren’t on active duty. This meant a lot of time hanging out with his squad. But god damn, they were all idiots.

When he’d first been shunted in with them yesterday morning, they’d mostly greeted him with grunts or stoic nods or silence. Mostly.

“Hi!” said one girl, who looked far too young and _far too fucking cheerful_ to be here. She was a troll, like him and at least half of the squad, and at least a head shorter than all of the others. And was that… did she have a _tail_ pinned to the back of her uniform? “I’m Nepeta! What’s your name?”

“Karkat,” he grunted, and then proceeded to scowl as she giggled. From that point onwards she insisted on calling him “Karkitty.” He supposed she was _somewhat_ bearable compared to the other squad members, who were such ridiculously serious assholes. Just like him. The cat puns were annoying as fuck, but her perpetual optimism was almost kind of nice, and she was surprisingly ferocious on the battlefield—completely unafraid to get covered head-to-toe in demon blood. Part of Karkat suspected that maybe she relished it.

Nepeta, he learned, was eight sweeps old, like him. She’d signed up for the army as soon as the King had decreed that the age limit for enlisting be lowered from nine sweeps (or, rather, 18 human years) to seven and a half. However, initially, Nepeta’s “meowrail,” who was a member of the Dersian Royal Council, had stepped in and interfered with army administration, disallowing her from joining. That situation was uncomfortably familiar to Karkat. However, more recently she’d simply signed up again under a fake name and fake credentials. It was a dumb thing to do, in Karkat’s reckoning, but it was better than running off to try and assassinate Prospit’s Queen or something.

What a dumb fucking plan that had been anyway. Not least of all because the King wasn’t even _in_ Derse, and if Karkat had waited _one day_ he would have known that. He could have avoided this entire situation. He should have—if only he’d been— ugh.

The next morning— _this_ morning—he and his squad were filing into the mess hall at HQ, having just gotten off duty fighting all matter of black-carapaced oily-blooded demons. (Karkat had been naïve enough to think that they weren’t so bad, given how easy it had been to kill the lizard-cats. But, oh no, they were only the _tip_ of the betentacled shit heap.) There was a screen at one end of the mess hall, permanently tuned to _Derse 24/7 News Alert_ , and as Karkat trudged towards the serving area to grab himself some grub loaf, a disturbingly familiar face flashed across the screen.

He froze and did a double take.

“Holy fucking shit,” he said aloud.

Nepeta, trailing behind him, looked over. “Ooh, I know, right! I didn’t know we had another purrince and purrincess! And they’re twins! Soooo cuuuute.”

The screen was too far away for Karkat to hear the audio, but the scrolling headline at the bottom of the screen read: “Lost Prince and Princess return to Derse; still no sign of King.”

Above it, on a black-and-silver balcony next to three other blondes who were quite obviously his siblings, was Dave. Of. Fucking. Course.

The guy standing on his left, taller and broader, with a grim expression on his face and weird dumb pointy shades, was the guy that Karkat assumed was the Prince Regent of Derse. On either side of them were their two sisters, one with wavy shoulder-length hair and a bright grin plastered to her face, waving jovially to the masses. The other had shorter, straighter hair and her hand on Dave’s shoulder, saying something into his ear.

This was the guy Karkat had been dumped onto the drafting train next to. The guy who’d been out cold, his near-white hair stained with blood and wearing shoes so caked in sewage that the guards had literally _ordered_ Karkat to tell the guy to get rid of them when he woke up. The guy who couldn’t see straight in sunlight, who’d saved Karkat’s life and whose life Karkat had saved in return.

That guy was a _fucking prince_?

“Um. Karkitty?” Nepeta asked uncertainly. “You look… really angry!”

“Plot twist and a half, right?” came another voice from behind them. Karkat wrenched his eyes away from the screen, now showing footage from a speech the Prince Regent had made earlier, to see Commander Peixes standing behind them.

“Commander!” yelped Nepeta, her right hand lifting in a salute.

Karkat didn’t bother. “Did you know?” he demanded.

“That the pale shrimpy kid is royalty? No glubbin’ way,” she said with a shrug. She waved a hand at Nepeta. “At ease, Cadet. Woulda never let him fight if I had. But that ain’t even the biggest fin.”

It seemed like a pretty big fucking deal to Karkat. If he’d known the guy was royalty he would have stayed _far_ away from him. He definitely wouldn’t have traded fucking chumhandles with him. “What’s bigger than that?”

Meenah nodded at the screen, which was still showing the Prince Regent’s speech. “Prospit and Derse are negotiatin’ a truce. So both sides have ordered a ceasefire.”

Okay. Karkat had to admit: that was pretty fucking huge. Admittedly more huge than any personal dilemma involving him and some asshole prince. “Oh. Holy shit.”

“My thoughts exactly, nubs. So, I’m putting together an envoy to cross the frontlines for the porpoise of debaiting terms or somefin like that. You want in?”

Karkat blinked. “Me? Uh, no offense, but I’m only a cadet.”

Meenah grinned. “I know you are. It’s customary to have a few prawns on board with the bigger fish, though.”

Sometimes it was impossible to figure out what the _fuck_ Meenah was saying in amongst all the fish puns. Captain Ampora used them sometimes, too. Then there was Nepeta with her cat puns, but she wasn’t quite so obsessive over them. _Fuck_ , he was just surrounded by pretentious assholes and their _dumb fucking animal puns_.

“Plus,” Meenah continued, “I’m tryna get as many trolls as I can. To make shore they see how powerful we are. ‘Cause everyone knows trolls are betta fighters than humans.”

Okay, Karkat couldn’t exactly disagree with that. Oh, god, if Kankri were here he’d probably go off on some diatribe about how trolls are biologically predisposed to be better in combat than humans, due in part to physiological differences which make them able to sustain more damage and… fuck.

He shrugged. “Sure, I guess I’ll come along.” It’d be better than sticking around here, anyway.

_Plus,_ he thought. _Maybe it’ll give me some opportunity to get the fuck out of here._

“Fintastic! Meetin’ll be later this week, so I’ll send someone to collect ya when it’s time, yeah?”

Without even waiting for an answer, she swept out of the mess hall. Troops from all over the room turned to stare as she went, others scrambling to get out of the way and saluting as she flounced past.

“She’s so cooool!” Nepeta squeed. She leaned closer to Karkat’s ear. “And oh my claws and stripes, she _totally_ has a flush crush on you! I ship it _so hard_!!!”

“No offense, but fuck off,” Karkat replied.

Nepeta just giggled.

Karkat turned back to the screen, but the news channel had already moved on to the next story.

 

**ii.**

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--  
  
TG: yo  
TG: miss me much  
TG: you dont have to answer that i know you did  
TG: dry your tears man im back  
EB: oh hey!!  
EB: you weren’t gone as long as i expected you to be.  
TG: what  
TG: its been like four days man  
TG: holy shit youre right thats barely any time at all  
TG: only like four sevenths of a week damn son  
EB: told you. :B  
TG: just feels like longer is all  
EB: maybe just because you’ve been busy?  
EB: things have been kinda hectic on my end too, to be honest.  
TG: i think it would be fair to say  
TG: that things are hectic everywhere right now  
TG: cause like  
TG: wars and shit  
EB: yeah... you sure got that right.  
EB: how’d the move go?  
TG: ok i guess  
EB: well that’s... good.  
TG: yeah  
TG: well i mean like  
TG: shit was crazy for a while there  
EB: as you said.  
TG: nah man crazy and hectic are two different things  
TG: its like the difference between apple juice and an apple smoothie  
EB: um... one’s see through and refreshing and the other’s thick and creamy?  
TG: exactly  
EB: uhuh.  
EB: right.  
TG: anyway shit was crazy for a while there and tbh itll probably continue to be at least partly that crazy for a while to come  
EB: why?  
TG: uh  
TG: idk man it just will  
EB: oh. well. ok then.  
TG: yeah  
TG: ...  
TG: is it just me or is this awkward  
EB: it is a little bit.  
TG: talked to TT yet  
EB: nope. she's not online right now so... i'll probably message her when she is.  
EB: have you talked to GG yet?  
TG: not yet  
TG: shes uh  
TG: not online  
TG: so  
TG: message her later i guess  
EB: yep.  
EB: you do that.  
TG: ...  
TG: wow what the fuck has happened in the past four days that has so hindered our ability to hold a normal fucking conversation??  
EB: i dunno, dude!   
EB: you’ve only tried to make one lame metaphor the whole time you’ve been talking to me.  
EB: and honestly, it was a pretty half hearted one at that.  
EB: are you... okay?  
TG: what  
TG: yes of course i am  
TG: geez i didnt realise the extent to which my kickass metaphors were the backbone of our relationship  
TG: hey man maybe i left my ability to dish out generous helpings of highly detailed and ultra-descriptive analogies back at the temple   
EB: ...temple?  
TG: aw fuck   
TG: theres no getting out of that one is there  
TG: i know a lost cause when i see one and im not the kind of guy to try and deny i ever said what i literally just said theres even a fucking log of it  
TG: wow fuck idiot  
TG: dude do you ever feel like this whole anonymity thing is a total drag  
TG: i mean sure its a great way of just like removing any and all prejudices and allowing you to build friendships based on nothing but barebones interactions  
TG: but holy fuck is it hard to keep up sometimes  
TG: like  
TG: dont take this the wrong way man but youre probably my best bro  
TG: and yet i literally dont even know your name  
TG: or what you look like  
TG: or if youre like... dersian or prospitian or whatever  
TG: and idk its pretty fucking astronomical that this is the first time ive EVER slipped up on the “withholding personal info” shtick in the past however many years given how atrocious my mental filter has pretty much always been at withholding literally fucking anything  
TG: sigmund freuds wet dream incarnate right here  
TG: but basically yeah  
TG: TT and i used to live in a temple until we absconded the fuck out of there  
TG: its her business to tell you why if you wanna grill her about it, shell probably chew me the fuck out for slipping up and telling you but whatever it was bound to happen sometime   
TG: this is me were dealing with after all  
TG: you still there?  
TG: dont mind me im just soliloquising my frustration   
TG: i havent even scratched the tip of the shitheap bro you have no idea about the shit ive been dealing with lately  
TG: its fucked up   
TG: thats really all there is to say on the matter  
EB: ok...  
EB: well um.  
EB: i don’t know if you know,  
EB: but you also kind of inadvertently just told me that you’re dersian?  
TG: what  
TG: fuck  
TG: how??  
EB: prospit doesn’t have temples.  
EB: they’re a dersian thing.  
EB: prospit has the pantheon in the main city and that’s pretty much it.  
TG: oh  
TG: fuck  
TG: how did i not know that  
TG: how do YOU know that?  
EB: um...  
TG: youre prospitian arent you  
TG: are you like  
TG: a priest in training  
TG: holy fuck that would be hilarious  
EB: no!!  
EB: to the priest thing, i mean.  
EB: yes to being prospitian though...  
TG: oh  
TG: well fuck i guess we have to be enemies now  
EB: hm.  
TG: uh  
TG: im joking  
EB: i know you are.  
TG: dont tell me you take that derse v prospit shit seriously man come on  
TG: i thought you were cooler than that  
EB: it’s, um...  
EB: it’s complicated.  
TG: huh  
TG: well uh  
TG: i guess thats fair  
TG: honestly youre right about it being complicated  
TG: and i should probably see it as like a super duper bad fucking complicated shitstorm of an ordeal  
TG: but i dont  
TG: idk i think our years of internet friendship speak for themselves you know  
EB: yeah...  
EB: yeah you’re right.  
EB: ok, i'll be honest, i used to think everyone from derse was evil and i always assumed you and TT were from somewhere in prospit just because you’re not evil.  
EB: or at least you don’t seem evil.  
TG: what are you talking about im the most evil motherfucker youre ever likely to meet in your LIFE  
EB: haha, sure you are.  
EB: anyway, more recently i've been, um... kind of invested with the whole war between derse and prospit.  
EB: uh, learning about it, i mean.  
EB: and i think super recently I’ve kinda come to realise that there’s... not really any difference between us? dersians and prospitians, i mean. we're all just people.  
TG: really   
TG: howd you come to that conclusion sherlock  
EB: shut up, let me finish my touching speech!  
TG: the spotlight is yours hamlet  
EB: ANYWAY,  
EB: the war wasn’t because of any bad blood or anything between cities, or between kingdoms, or between anyone but the respective tyrannical figureheads of our kingdoms.  
EB: i mean, our queen was a greedy bitch who used the kingdom as a plaything for her own amusement, and your king was an aggressive, power hungry egomaniac.  
TG: is  
TG: not was  
TG: hes only missing not dead  
TG: unfortunately  
TG: so until he comes back which hopefully he doesnt were under the leadership of the prince fucking regent  
EB: wow, sounds like you dont like him very much.  
TG: what? nah hes ok  
TG: “prince fucking regent” is kind of an in-joke i guess  
EB: between you and TT?  
TG: uh sure  
EB: why?  
TG: not important  
TG: hey look at this change of subject going down  
TG: i also heard that the king was a totally shit parent  
EB: yeah i’ve heard that about our late queen too.   
EB: maybe royalty messes with a person’s ability to be a decent parent.  
EB: word is that she once had adulterous relations with her sister’s husband.  
TG: wow that is downright illegal  
TG: well hey how about this one:  
TG: according to the rumour mill  
TG: the king of derse once ordered a hit on a couple of four year olds  
EB: what!  
EB: i really hope that’s not true!  
TG: well i never met the king  
TG: obviously  
TG: but it seems perfectly within the appropriate level of shittiness of his personality  
EB: haha yeah.  
TG: shit talking our former monarchs feels good man  
TG: and so does this new openness  
TG: theres so much trust between us are you feeling this man  
TG: if you told me to jump off a cliff into your arms right now i totally would dude  
TG: even though youre a...  
TG: FILTHY PROSPITIAN  
TG: (also no homo)  
EB: oh, go jump off a cliff, you...  
EB: FILTHY DERSIAN!  
TG: aight brb  
EB: hahahaha.  
EB: wait i never finished my monologue, you interrupted me again!  
TG: oh sorry  
TG: uhh better make it snappy i gotta make like a banana and split in a sec  
EB: oh, sorry. i was just gonna wax poetic about how we totally regular civilians are all in the same position of having no control over the state of the relationship between our respective kingdoms.  
TG: yeah you got that right  
TG: anyway i gotta go be a totally regular civilian now  
TG: seeya  
EB: wait, hold on!  
EB: before you go,  
EB: my name’s john.  
TG: heh  
TG: mines dave  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] \--

“Dave?” The door cracked open and Rose’s head poked in. She was all done up, every hair in place under her circlet and makeup pristine. No doubt whatever she was wearing was some sort of intricate purple-and-black number—they’d been the only colours she’d ever worn before, but now that they lived in Derse she fit the city’s colour scheme like a gothy glove. “Are you ready?”

Dave closed the chat module on his own circlet (okay, so it still felt pretentious as fuck to be wearing, but damn if those modules weren’t convenient as all hell) and stood up off the edge of his bed. He, too, was uncomfortably done up, in a suave as fuck tailored black suit and red undershirt, but unlike Rose he’d decided to forgo the makeup. You know, just for a change.

“What kind of ready are we talking?” he asked. “’Cause I’m dressed to impress but inside I’m still a mess.” He smirked. “Check it.”

Rose rolled her eyes and entered the room fully. Yep, she was wearing purple and black all right—mostly black, though, like him: the only purple was the frilly trim on the hem of her dress, which ended at her knees at the front and at her ankles at the back. “Your ironic persona continues to be entirely inadequate in hiding your true feelings. It’s okay to be nervous. I am, too.”

She didn’t seem it. “Yeah. Well.” He nodded at her dress. “What’s with that? Couldn’t decide whether to wear a long or short dress, so you decided to go with both?”

“Something like that.” She smiled serenely. “You look handsome, Dave. They’ll love you.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I’m sure that the people of Derse are so shallow that whether or not they receive their long lost prince and princess with open arms depends on how pretty we are. For what it’s worth, you look nice, too.”

“Thank you.” She stepped over to him, put her arm through his. He couldn’t help but notice that the heels she was wearing put them almost at eye-level. “Roxy and Dirk are waiting for us,” she said quietly.

“Everyone in Derse is waiting for us,” he pointed out.

She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

He swallowed. “Let’s go, then.”

 

It was pretty fucked up, Dave thought, that he could hang out at Skaia for a while, kill and nearly be killed by massively giant lethally-clawed lizard-cat demons, and be so totally overcome by adrenaline that fear didn’t even register in the slightest. Yet, two days later, standing on a balcony presenting himself to the masses as the Lost Prince of Derse was unequivocally the most terrifying thing he’d ever done.

He’d hoped that after Dirk had delivered his speech about the hope for peace, inter-kingdom relations and changing times, they’d be able to go back inside and Dave could continue pretending that he was a totally regular dude who lived in complete obscurity, despite being literal fucking royalty.

Part of him was still kind of hoping that this was all some ridiculously elaborate practical joke.

But no, Dirk finished his speech to a tumultuous approval from the common people and Dave, Rose, and Roxy were ushered forward to join the Prince Regent in the spotlight for one last exposé. Somehow, as they did, the crowd got even _louder_ , their screams and cheers building into a crescendo of deafening static, overpowering the sound of the sea, the sound of the unnecessary orchestra playing something intense underneath the balcony, even the sound—but not the sensation—of Dave’s heartbeat echoing through his skull.

Dirk looked around at Dave and Rose, offering them an encouraging nod. He didn’t seem to enjoy this very much, but he was at least _used_ to it. Dave nodded stiffly in return. Roxy, meanwhile, seemed to be having the time of her life, grinning and waving at the crowd and looking the perfect image of a bubbly, gracious princess in her off-the-shoulder dress. However, when she’d hugged Dave earlier, he’d caught bitter scent of vodka under her flowery perfume. Rose stuck close to Dave’s side, waving demurely and offering the crowd a wry little smirk. To anyone who didn’t know her, she likely seemed perfectly at ease—but Dave _did_ know her, better than anyone, and the stiff angle of her shoulders spoke of well-hidden tension.

Dave, for his part, was floored by the sheer _magnitude_ of people flooding the courtyard down below, seeping out of the surrounding streets and alleyways, leaning out of windows. From up here, it was so easy to look at them and ignore the fact that they were all _people_. With, like, _lives_ and stuff. Hopes and dreams and families and friends and careers and ambitions and interests and hobbies and _far_ better things to do than inject themselves into a crowd of so many hundreds of others to applaud and gawk at some lanky blonde-haired teenagers for no reason other than the fact that they lived in a palace and wore fancy fucking metal bracelets on their heads.

Just as it occurred to Dave that _this is fucked up,_ it stopped. Froze. Paused.

Compared to the noise, the silence was deafening. A pressure built in Dave’s head as his breaths quickened. “Not this again,” he muttered to himself, voice wavering, a gunshot of noise through the quiet.

He’d only just managed to convince himself that whatever had happened yesterday in that dusty old room had just been some messed up side effect of his concussion. And maybe it still was, but he couldn’t stop the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach that declared there to be a definite difference between the headaches, the dizziness, the confusion, and whatever _this_ was.

The four seconds in which everything was frozen felt like ten times that long. The screams and cheers and yells flooded back in so suddenly and so loudly that Dave actually _flinched_. He flinched again when he felt Rose’s hand on his shoulder.

He turned to look at her. That serene but vaguely uncomfortable smile was still plastered across her face, but her perfectly sculpted eyebrows were furrowed. “Are you okay?” she mouthed. Or, she probably actually said it, but even a foot away from him, her voice was lost to the cacophony.

Leaning close to her ear, he replied, “Fucking splendid. I could do this every day.” He hoped she wouldn’t hear the waver in his voice.

Of course she fucking did. As he pulled away her smile disappeared, replaced with an expression of all-out concern. Damn. Just how bad did he look? Hopefully not as bad as he _felt_ , which was: less than an inch from flipping all the way off the god damn handle. Shaking knees, jelly legs and trembling hands. Christ, he needed to get out of here.

She leaned forward to shout into his ear, “It should only be a little longer. Think you can handle it?”

He nodded jerkily. He could handle it. He could handle this. He just wasn’t sure if he could handle whatever the fuck had happened before.

Rose smiled again and gave his shoulder a gentle pat.

KARKAT: NO OFFENSE, BUT FUCK OFF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no way I was ever going to go through this entire story without featuring Nepeta somewhere, okay? She's pretty much the reason I got into Homestuck the first time, way back in 2012. I read it and expected her to be my favourite character, but then Dave happened, and, well...
> 
> Anyway, this isn't the time nor the place to be going into my patchy history with the comic for which I am now writing fanfiction. I should say this, though, because I just realised that I haven't thus far: Thank you very much to all of the people who have left kudos/subscribed/commented/etc so far! I very much appreciate it. :)
> 
> Next chapter, the ball that has been rolling v. slowly for the past few chapters starts rolling a little faster. It'll be great. Stay tuned. ;D


	12. The Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The tittering outside the gates spoke of excitement and expectation, but the atmosphere on the Palace’s front driveway was decidedly nervous._   
>  _“You guys have got this,” Jade said as she tightly hugged a slightly nauseous-looking Jake. “You’re already friends with the Prince Regent!”_

**i.**

After a week of planning and preparing and finalising details, it was finally time. And thank goodness, thought John: the whole lead-up process just made him feel uppity and, despite his initial reluctance about being part of the diplomatic envoy, he seriously just wanted to get going already. He had to admit, though—learning a little more about Dave and Rose had helped him get over some of his reservations. Even knowing their names went a long way towards making them seem more… _real_. Not that he’d ever, like, doubted their existence or anything.

“Only three weeks since our mother’s death and already we’ve come so far towards repairing some of the damage she caused,” Jade mused, lingering in the doorway as John struggled with the zip on his suitcase.

“Yeah,” John grunted, giving it another tug; pulling it another inch. “Jane’s doing a great job as Queen, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Jade agreed with a dazzling grin. “Hey, we have to give credit to the rest of the Circle, though.”

“We’re _part_ of the circle,” John reminded her, sitting back on his haunches to catch his breath. This zip was seriously stubborn.

“I guess that means we deserve some of the credit, too!”

John rolled his eyes. “You do, maybe. It’s not as if I’ve really done much of anything except sit at the roundtable trying to follow what everyone’s talking about.” He resumed his battle with the zip. “I don’t know why Jane wanted me on the Circle, let alone why she’s sending me on a diplomatic mission!”

“Well, if I can’t go, you _have_ to go,” Jade reasoned. “Then you have to tell me everything when you get home, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “But only if you help me with this freaking zip.”

Jade giggled and stepped forward to give him a hand. Meaning: she parked herself cross-legged on top of the suitcase, squishing its contents down enough for him to pull the zip the rest of the way around.

“Thank you,” he said, patting the side of the case and looking up at her. “Okay. You can get off now.”

But she wasn’t smiling anymore. “I really wish I could go,” she said quietly. “I wish we could both go.”

“I know you do,” he replied gently. “But it’s just not safe, Jade.”

“I know,” she parroted. “If I were only a single year younger…” she trailed off. Then she perked up again, as a sudden thought occurred to her. “Oh! You know what you should do while you’re in Derse?”

“Um… buy you lots of souvenirs?”

“Well, yes, that, but I was going to say that you should see if you can _maaaaybe_ meet up with Dave and Rose!”

John would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t occurred to him. While John had initially been apprehensive and conflicted to learn that their two best internet buddies were Dersian, Jade, for whatever reason, had been excited beyond belief. Over the past week, she’d taken _every possible_ opportunity to name-drop them in their conversations.

“I was thinking that, too,” he admitted after a short pause. “Except, we don’t know if they live in Derse City. They could be anywhere in the kingdom.”

Jade shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to ask!”

“Why don’t you ask them, then?”

She blinked, as if she hadn’t thought of it. “Well, maybe I will.” She leapt up— _finally_ —and put her hands on her hips. “Come on, then. Don’t wanna keep Jake and the others waiting.”

“Guess not.”

A small crowd had gathered at the Golden Gates out the front of the palace, watching the delegates loading their luggage into the bus. Derse was only about a nine hours’ drive away, but it was important to travel in style. And comfort. More so the latter, in John’s opinion. The tittering outside the gates spoke of excitement and expectation, but the atmosphere on the Palace’s front driveway was decidedly nervous.

“You guys have got this,” Jade said as she tightly hugged a slightly nauseous-looking Jake. “You’re already friends with the Prince Regent!”

“I’m more worried about this darned council I’ve heard so much about,” Jake admitted, glancing over towards where Kankri and Kanaya were saying their farewells to their friends. At the last roundtable, Jane had stood up and announced to the Circle that she and Jake had been in friendly internet correspondence with the Prince Regent and princess of Derse for a number of years, due to an apparent twist of either fate or coincidence. She’d explained that the only reason things had been going so smoothly up until now was because of this friendship. The Circle had reacted in myriad ways—some of the more senior members, leftovers from the previous Queen’s rule, had been appalled; Terezi had already known, having been Jane’s trial confidant, while Kankri had seemed troubled but otherwise unfazed. Most others reacted with objective surprise.

“How bad can they be?” John asked.

Jake’s lips pressed together as Jade finally released him. “Well, Dirk _does_ have a way of veiling everything he says in a layer of hyperbolic prose to the point where one can never be sure when he is or isn’t hyperbolising, so… perhaps not?”

John blinked—even Jade looked stumped. “Uh. Yeah. I’m sure they won’t be half as bad as we expect them to be,” John said.

“Surely not,” Jade agreed blankly.

“Oh no, they’re pretty fucking awful,” said Sollux, coming up to them from around the other side of the bus. Outside of the roundtable hall, he seemed a completely different person: at the roundtables, he was straight-backed and formal. Here, he was all slumped shoulders and hands-in-pockets, his lisp somehow more noticeable. “It’s basically impossible to be hyperbolic about how genuinely fucking terrible they are.”

“Isn’t it… isn’t it hyperbolic to say that?” Jade wondered.

“Can you even _be_ hyperbolic about being hyperbolic?” John countered.

Jake just swallowed and frowned and shifted from foot to foot.

Sollux let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’ll see what I mean soon enough,” he said gravely. “Can we fucking leave yet? Everyone’s here.”

“We’re still waiting on Jane to give us the final send-off,” explained Jake. “She ought to be along any second now.”

As he said it, an awed gasp rose from the crowd. The party gathered around the bus all stopped what they were doing or saying and turned to watch as a pair of guards swung open the Palace’s front doors, revealing Jane, standing there in a modest white blouse and blue skirt that she somehow managed to make seem regal. Just by virtue of her posture, John supposed: the way she stood there with her hands clasped in front of her, chin up and gaze forward. She offered the crowd a smile and a dignified wave before letting her queenly façade drop a little as she descended the stairs.

“About fucking time,” muttered Sollux, before slinking away towards the bus door.

John, closest to the stairs, was the first Jane reached, pulling him into a warm, eager embrace.

“Believe in yourself, little brother,” she said into his ear. “I wouldn’t be sending you if I didn’t think you’d be helpful in some way”

“Thanks,” John muttered. “I guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

She pulled away and gave him one last gentle pat on the cheek before moving on to Jake. Before John could so much as take a breath, he was almost knocked flat by an armful of Jade.

“Message me as soon as you get there! Promise me!”

“Okay, okay!” John laughed. “I’ll pester you as soon as I can catch an internet signal.”

“You better,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I want to know every detail of everything that happens.” She squeezed him tighter. “And take care of yourself.”

“I will,” he promised. “It’s just some negotiations, anyway. What’s the worst that could happen?”

 

**ii.**

“Your Highness?”

Dirk looked up. “Yes?”

“The envoy from Prospit has reached the front gates. They’ll be at the palace within the hour.”

“Right. Great. Thank you.”

The attendant bowed out of the room.

Taking a deep breath, Dirk stood up from his desk. Okay. He was ready for this. He’d been preparing for over a week, he was _ready_. This would be no problem. He wasn’t negotiating with the Prospitian delegates; he was working with them to negotiate with the Dersian council. That was the truth of it. He, and… and Jake.

_Fuck_.

He sat down again. He took another breath.

_Holy shit. The purpose of this entire thing is to settle on a truce between two kingdoms, and your main hang-up is some dumb internet crush? On a guy who’s already engaged?_

He dropped his head into his hands. He thought he’d settled this. He thought had a handle on it. A lid, keeping everything that didn’t have any significance to The Kingdom (honestly, _fuck_ the kingdom… no, shit, fuck, this is important) tightly locked away and compartmentalised. And sure, that was easy to do when conspiring with the object of your affections and his _fucking fiancée_ through text-based communication. The idea of meeting Jake in person, however, seemed a far more tumultuous event than any truce. Honestly, ever since that conversation with Jane over a week ago, the truce seemed like more of an _inevitability_ than something that needed working towards. The council wouldn’t be able to deny the sense in it for long, and they had some strong allies advocating for reasonable terms. Dirk’s own little sister was a Seer of Light, for fuck’s sake, and apparently the Prospitians were bringing a Seer of _Blood_ with them—it’d be a fucking cakewalk.

_Yeah. Okay. This’ll be easy_.

Compartmentalisation: take two. Tactic: Just Don’t Think About It. Him. Don’t. Stop. God fucking damn it, Strider.

Dirk sat up as the thought occurred to him to let his siblings know about the delegate’s imminent arrival.

timaeusTestified [TT] opened memo on board STRILONDESFTWWWW.  
  
TT: Announcement: This board name is still dumb. Let’s all agree to revoke Roxy’s board naming privileges from now on.  
tipsyGnostalgic [TG] responded to memo.  
TG: u know u luv it ;)  
TT: Yes, you are correct. My negative attitude towards it is really just a ruse constructed in an attempt to dissuade you from learning the truth of the matter, that being: I really, really fucking LOVE the creative, original, and well thought-out board name, Roxy. You’ve figured me out yet again.  
TT: How drunk are you right now?  
TG: omg straight into the accusations  
TG: i will hav u know i am as STONE COLD SOBER as a fuckin STONE rn  
TG: legit  
TG: not even lyin  
tentacleTherapist [TT] responded to memo.  
TT: She’s had at least one glass of wine.  
TT: I was in her room earlier and I saw the open bottle on the dresser.  
TG: :O  
TG: rose u fuckn traitor  
TG: i thought i was ur fav :c  
TT: You’re still my favourite, Roxy (don’t tell Dave, he’ll get jealous). It’s just that I do believe it’s in all of our best interests to know precisely how inebriated you are at any given time.  
TT: For... posterity’s sake.  
TT: Agreed.   
TT: In other words, Roxy, put down that glass of wine in your hand.  
TG: MY HANDS R EMPTY  
TT: Is she telling the truth, Rose?  
TT: I believe she might be, Dirk.   
turntechGodhead [TG] responded to memo.  
TG: dont listen to rose she doesnt know what shes talking about  
TG: that lie detector shtick is totally fucking made up  
TG: ive heard enough rants and monologues and fucking soliloquys about seer of light powers to know a hoax when i see one  
TG: at least a hoax pertaining to rose or created by rose  
TG: i have a special bullshit radar specifically purposed for detecting any bullshit that has something to do with/was caused by rose  
TG: its unerringly accurate so watch out  
TG: well im sold  
TG: where can i get 1  
TG: and for how much?  
TG: step right up step right up ladies and gentlefucks, rose lalonde bullshit detector only seven million boonbucks motherfuckers  
TG: the fuck is a boonbuck  
TG: idk it just seemed like the appropriate thing to say for some reason  
TT: Well, while we’re on the sibling rivalry tangent, Dave...  
TT: Please stop stealing my shampoo.  
TT: Just get your own. Please. We have separate bathrooms now, and you’re more than capable of acquiring your own toiletries.  
TG: but rose  
TG: i want to smell like lavender passion too  
TG: isnt it adorable that our hair smells the same  
TG: cute lil twins with lavender smelling hair  
TG: isnt that just the most fucking adorable thing you ever heard of???  
TT: Absolutely not.  
TG: fuck yes :3  
TT: Well, this discussion has severely derailed from its original purpose.  
TG: whoops that might have been my fault  
TT: It was most definitely your fault.  
TT: It was everyone’s fuckin’ fault except mine, why don’t we just agree on that.  
TT: Anyway.  
TT: The Prospitian Envoy has entered the city, and they’ll be at the palace gates soon.  
TT: So put some fuckin’ pants on and meet me at the front door in about twenty minutes. We’ll give them a warm Dersian welcome and all that twee bullshit. Best to get it out of the way, really.  
TG: fuk u dirk im already wearing pants  
TG: so THERE  
TG: im not  
TG: can i wear a skirt instead  
TG: omg yes do it  
TG: yeah ok maybe some other time  
TG: the thought of actually doing that even ironically just suddenly gave me stage fright  
TT: I’m more than willing to support your desire to crossdress, Dave, ordinarily I would even encourage it, but this is actually kind of really seriously fucking important so please try not to embarrass yourself and therefore me.  
TG: yeah i know dont worry  
TG: pants firmly on legs  
TG: they aint goin anywhere  
TG: until later  
TG: pffffft omg  
TT: Dave.  
TG: ...when i take a shower.  
TT: Right.  
TG: ;););)  
TG: i wish my sisters would get their minds out of the gutters plz  
TT: Dirk, what about the senior councillors? Are they going to be part of the Prospitian welcome party?  
TT: I hardly think they’d be pleased if we left them out.  
TT: You just know I ain’t telling them fucking anything, but knowing them they’ll find out on their own. They come from affluent families, remember, so they have contacts all over the city. I wouldn’t be surprised if half of them already have several sets of eyes watching the Prospitians as we speak.  
TT: I guess I should probably also let you guys know about the sleeping arrangements for our guests:  
TT: As you know, all of our quarters are on the uppermost floors. Accordingly, the guest quarters are on the ground floor. That was one thing the architects of this place actually got right, making it minimally easier for guests to find their way around. Minimally.  
TT: Tonight we’ll be having dinner with our guests in the Midnight Hall. Us, the delegate party, and most of the council. They weren’t all able to make it tonight because they’re rude fucking assholes.  
TG: amen  
TG: amen x2 combom  
TT: Yeah. Anyway, all meals after tonight will be just us and the delegate party.  
TT: And by meals I mean dinner because, let’s face it, that’s the most important meal of the day.  
TG: seriously   
TG: fuck breakfast  
TG: dinners where its at yo  
TT: Dinner’s where it’s at. Especially tonight.   
TT: It’s sure to be really fuckin’ interesting.  
TT: And by interesting I mean... probably really stressful.  
TT: For me, at least.  
TG: dw mr stressypants we wont let ur stress juice ruin our nite  
TT: Gee. Thanks.  
TT: Good to know you have my back.  
TG: nah im with you man im pretty sure the sea troll tried to touch my butt the other day  
TG: not. cool.  
TT: Who, Cronus? Yeah, he’ll do that.   
TG: that guy does NOT discriminate holy shit  
TT: Trolls generally don’t, Dave.  
TG: what? no i mean like  
TG: this guy  
TG: cronus  
TG: even beyond the gender thing  
TG: male female doesnt matter ok thats trolls in a bucket or whatever  
TG: but THIS guy  
TG: male female troll human child teenager adult  
TG: its all fair game to him  
TG: fuckin creepy as shit is what it is  
TT: I did warn you, bro. But yeah, he tends to come on a little strong. Also, he’s a useless councillor. He can never seem to decide one way or the other.  
TT: His cousin isn’t all that much better. Marginally less pathetic, which is how he managed to get himself promoted to the rank of Captain while on duty at Skaia.  
TG: captain?  
TG: wait  
TG: oh fuck  
TG: how did i not make that connection before  
TG: fuckin captain ampora the basshole  
TG: and councillor ampora the creepy fuckin asshole  
TG: it all makes so much sense now  
TT: Basshole?  
TG: fish puns yo  
TG: apparently its a sea troll thing  
TG: ooh my friend at the temple is a sea troll  
TG: she makes fish puns sometimes  
TG: shes cute about it tho :3  
TT: Captain Ampora is, unfortunately, my primary source of information from Skaia.  
TT: Which means I’m more or less left in the dark about most of what actually happens. Especially the mistakes they make.  
TT: Case in point: the breakthrough at HQ last week. I’m still not entirely sure how that actually happened.  
TG: yeah sorry man i was out of commission for most of that bullshit  
TT: It’s fine. You shouldn’t have even been there. Recognising you was one thing Captain Ampora actually did right.  
TT: But, apparently something else terrible has happened now, and once again I’m left mostly in the dark.  
TT: Some sort of bullshit broke out when the Battle Commanders met with each other yesterday morning.  
TG: oh shit what happened  
TT: Like I said, I have no fucking clue. It’s not like I’m the Prince fucking Regent or anything.  
TG: more and more im realising that the title of prince regent in derse is about as useful as a torch in the sunlight  
TG: like fuck dude its already bright as shit why am i waving this torch around it aint making anything easier to see or whatever im fucking blinded anyway fuck  
TG: no offense  
TT: Well. I’m definitely adding that analogy to the book I’m writing about how much I hate my life. Thanks for your contribution, Dave.  
TG: anytime bro  
TT: As touching as this is, I feel like we’ve strayed wildly off topic once again.  
TT: We shouldn’t really be wasting so much time talking about nonsense when the Prospitian delegate draws closer to our front doorstep by the second.  
TT: As nervous as we all undoubtedly are, I’m sure our guests feel even more so, and as hosts it’s our job to help them feel at home, is it not?  
TT: Although, I’m sure Derse is to Prospit as the moon is to the sun, so I’m not sure we can quite achieve that. We can at least help them to feel comfortable and at ease, however.  
TT: And the first step towards doing that would be to not be late to greet them at our doors.  
TT: Rose is right.  
TT: As always, it would seem.  
TG: unfortunately  
TT: I’m closing this memo, we all need to get ready.  
TG: ready for what?  
TG: were just meeting a few prospitian chumps at the door and saying “yo yes welcome to our city come in come in have some food its totally not poisoned”  
TG: right  
TG: well personally i need to get ready to let them sup from our wine supplies  
TG: because that means  
TG: less for roxy :(  
TT: I’ll personally advocate for the drinking age to go up to 21 if you ever refer to yourself in the third person again.  
TG: dave agrees  
TT: Rose concurs.  
TG: roxy is l m a o  
TT: Dirk is closing this memo already.  
TT: Don’t forget the pants, people.  
  
timaeusTestified [TT] closed memo.

Dirk stood up again. His breaths were even and all the things that might have troubled him were neatly tucked away into their respective corners of his mind. He’d deal with them later.

Everything was fine. It’d be even more fine once this truce was finally underway.

He could almost believe that things were about to start looking up, but he wasn’t quite that naïve, and definitely far too cynical. He’d just have to wait and find out, he supposed.

 

**iii.**

It really was quite a sight, John supposed. Derse, with all its metal and silver and steel, black stone and purple affectations, was just about the polar opposite of white-and-gold Prospit, but it had its own sort of beauty. Infinitely more intimidating than Prospit, that was for sure—where Prospit was all rounded corners and domes and inviting archways, Derse was severe points and sharp edges and precisely-lain streets. Yet there was something about how the early dusk’s light reflected off every point and polished surface (which was most every surface, once they were out of the lower town) reminded him of the sky at night: endlessly mysterious and awe-inspiring, and yet cold and distant.

“It’s quite the sight,” Jake muttered next to him, staring out the bus window at the same intricate silver fountain John had just been staring at. A tree was a strange choice for a fountain statue, but it worked somehow. The bus rumbled through the streets at a steady but not speedy pace. They were attracting some attention—anyone they passed on the street would stop and stare for a moment, probably before going back to whatever they were doing once the bus was out of sight. They seemed quite reserved, Dersians—and their carapacians were jet _black_ , which was just plain odd to someone used to the pristine white shells of Prospitian carapacians.

“I’m not sure I really like it,” John admitted. “I mean, it’s pretty, yeah, but… kinda sinister.” He turned to face Jake, who smiled nervously.

“I do believe I know exactly what you mean,” he said. His smile disappeared. “Not to mention, we’re nearly at the palace and I’m scared out of my wits about representing the whole of Prospit.”

John felt the same, but he supposed he wasn’t the one _in charge_ of the entire delegation. “You’ll do fine,” he said instead. “And it’s like Jade said: you’re already friends with the Prince Regent, right? Aren’t you excited about getting to meet him?” Saying that made John think about Dave and Rose… he really should try to find out whether or not they were in or near the city. It really would be cool to meet them in person—it would, he supposed, probably help to really drive home the fact that they were just _people._ And that they were real.

“I suppose that’s one thing to look forward to,” Jake agreed, the smile returning to his face. “And Roxy, too. You know what, John?”

“What?”

“I do believe we’ll be just fine,” he said, and flashed a grin.

“Just wait until you meet the councillors,” intoned Sollux from the seat in front of them.

Jake kicked the seat. “Oh, shut it about the councillors! I’m trying to be optimistic!”

John laughed. “And Sollux is trying to be pessimistic!”

“I don’t even have to fucking try,” the troll grumbled. “It just comes naturally.”

“That’s the spirit, old chum!” Jake joked.

Soon enough, the bus was slowing down as it approached the massive silver front gates of Derse’s Royal Palace, and neither Jake nor John were smiling.

Moments later, the gates were closing behind the bus as the delegates filed out onto the paved driveway, trying to look as dignified as possible whilst stretching and groaning and working out the kinks in their spines that came with sitting in a moving vehicle for hours on end. Once John had satisfyingly cracked his spine at least three times, he looked towards the front doors of the palace. Unlike the front doors of the Prospitian palace, these doors were on level with the driveway, but somehow that didn’t detract from their grandeur. For one thing, these doors were at least twice as tall as the ones in Prospit, fitting in with the Dersian theme of tall and slim and pointy. There was some sort of intricate pattern worked into the metal of the doors that John couldn’t quite make out from where he stood. It looked like… knives? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Derse was beautiful, that was undeniable, but it was terrifying. It just felt _dangerous_.

As he watched, the doors swung open—seemingly by themselves; there were no guards pushing them open, and the movement was too smooth and synchronised to be human—and out strolled the Dersian royalty. Well, _strolled_ is a bit of a catch-all term. The young man in front, who John could only assume to be the Prince Regent, strode forwards with purpose in every step, his gait and posture betraying the years spent honing his royal demeanour. He was good at it, too. He walked ahead of his siblings, obviously intending to be the first to greet the delegates—which only seemed fitting, John supposed.

Only a couple of steps behind him was the princess, who—unlike her brother—had a wide grin practically splitting her face in two. Her perfectly styled hair bounced on her shoulders with every lilting step she took towards them. And lagging a good few steps behind _her_ , clasped arm in arm, were the previously lost twin royals John had heard about in passing. Something about some scandal years ago with the king… only the barest bones of that sort of news ever reached Prospit; usually Prospit concerned itself with Prospitian news, and the Prospitian media could hardly care less about what went on in Derse.

The twins looked to be about the same age as John—which was, quite honestly, somewhat of a relief—and the boy, like his older brother, was wearing shades, except in a different style… huh. Something about them looked familiar to John, for some unfathomable reason. He might have eventually figured out why if he’d thought about it for, like, _two seconds_ longer, but that was the moment the Prince Regent reached them.

Jake stepped forward. “Dirk Strider, Prince Regent of Derse,” he said jovially, extending a hand to shake. “We meet at last, old friend!”

The Prince Regent smirked slightly as he stepped forward to take Jake’s hand with a firm grip. “Careful how loud you say that, English,” he said smoothly. “It’s nice to finally see you in person. No problems on the road?”

“Smooth as butter!” Jake said, lifting the hand Dirk had just dropped to run through his hair. “Could do with a bit of freshening up, I have to admit.”

“ _Jaaaaake!!_ ” The princess had arrived. Despite Dirk’s warning to Jake, the princess obviously had no qualms about who saw what, and immediately launched herself at Jake, who received her with a startled laugh.

“Roxy! Oh, golly, it certainly is good to see you.”

“Oh my _gosh_ , you’re even cuter in real life! You really do speak how you type, that’s fucking _adorable!_ ”

“Roxy,” Dirk warned, “we might just be in the middle of a really important diplomatic greeting right now.”

Roxy pouted and let Jake go. Then she caught sight of John, and gasped audibly. “Oh my goodness, mini Jake!”

“Wh-what?” was John’s response.

“Oh, er, Roxy, Dirk, I mean, erm… your Highnesses, this is my half-brother, John.”

“Nice to meet you,” John said, and, since he didn’t know what else to do, he bowed from the waist.

Roxy giggled. “Fuckin’ cute,” she whispered.

“John, huh?” said the younger prince. He’d shaken off his twin and was standing a pace behind his siblings, arms crossed and looking... about as uncomfortable as John felt.

“These are our younger siblings, Rose and Dave,” Dirk explained. “They were missing for a number of years and we’ve only recently gotten them back.”

_Rose and Da—_

John’s eyes widened. The shades. The _shades_.

Dave was frowning at him. He blinked in reply. What does one do in a situation like this, John wondered? His gaze shifted sideways towards Rose, who was smiling peacefully and paying full attention as Jake introduced the rest of the delegate party.

“Kankri is our Seer of Blood,” he was saying, “as well as my second in command on this mission. Although I fully expect that he will take more than his fair share of the lead, due to his admittedly superior negotiation skills.”

Kanrki stepped forward, and, to John’s relief, bowed—albeit with more dignity than John had managed.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintances,” he said. “I look forward to discovering the ways in which we can strengthen the bond between our two kingdoms, in a way that will be mutually beneficial and will not disadvantage any party in any permanent or distressing way.”

John saw an eyebrow arch up over the frames of the Prince Regent’s shades. Rose, meanwhile, stepped forwards.

“Personally,” she began, “I would be fascinated to learn more about how your abilities work. As a Seer of Light, I’m sure we ought to find much in common.”

“A Seer of Light, you say?” Kankri replied, sounding genuinely surprised—wait, hold on, Rose was a _Seer of Light_? How did John not know this? Wait, of _course_ he didn’t know this, why would she tell him? How did he even know this was the same Dave and Rose? Maybe _his_ Dave and Rose weren’t even Dave and Rose—maybe they’d just given him fake names… the names of the new royals. Although, Dave had let it slip that they’d lived in a temple, which would make sense of Rose was a Seer, and their “moving” coincided eerily well with the “lost royals” being “found” again… urgh, this was all too much.

“Kanaya here is not only the First Priestess of the Prosptian Pantheon, but also a very accomplished Sylph of Space,” Jake explained.

Kanaya stepped forward and gave a very elegant bow. “I am honoured to meet you all,” she said.

“You’ve brought quite the party,” Rose commented. “I certainly look forward to seeing where this will all go.”

“As a Seer of Light, shouldn’t you know where it’s all going to go? In the end, of course.” Kankri pointed out.

Rose grinned. “Oh, of course, to a point. What I meant is that I’m interested in seeing what happens along the way. Not everything can be known or determined.”

“My friend is a Seer of Mind—I believe she would beg to differ.”

“She would likely also remind you to keep your eyes on your own aspect,” Kanaya said serenely. “Or your nose, rather, knowing her.”

“This sounds like a very interesting friend of yours,” Rose remarked.

“Oh, yes,” Kanaya smiled. “She has a very interesting way of smelling the world.”

The conversation went on like that for a while. Friendly little remarks and banter between the delegates and three out of four Dersian royals. John kind of zoned out; he wasn’t really involved in the conversation and didn’t see any reason to be. He found himself looking at Dave, who was still standing back from his siblings, gaze turned towards the floor and arms crossed over his chest. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, which seemed incongruous from the Dave John thought he knew—turntechGodhead, the conceited ironic jerkoff who wore shades 24/7. Well, this guy had the shades thing down at least.

With no warning, Dave’s head snapped up as if waking suddenly. He’d gone pale, and on his face was an expression of pure shock. “Watch out!” he yelled, voice cutting like a knife through the pleasantries. At the same time, he launched himself towards John, who barely had time to react before he was being tackled onto the paving. He whacked the back of his head as he landed, and for a moment his vision blacked out. He could still hear, and before he even hit the floor he heard a sound like the ticking of a clock and then two sounds like bullets hitting metal and then an uproar of voices, someone yelling _“Guards!_ ” and more yelling, and then,

“You good?”

His vision cleared. He blinked a few times to make sure. Dave was standing over him, still white as a sheet and shaking, but offering a hand towards him.

“I-I think so?” John said uncertainly, taking the offered hand and letting Dave pull him to his feet.

He looked to the left. Two long sticks—needles?—were buried into the side of the bus, right around the level where John’s torso had been. He turned to the right. Two guards were attached to either side of a slim troll with horns like a ram’s. She didn’t struggle, merely stared impassively at John as the guards restraining her awaited their next orders.

Then Jake was upon him, asking if he was alright, followed by Roxy, and Rose, and Kanaya, and in all the madness, John never did find out what happened to the troll who had, it seemed, just tried to assassinate him.

JOHN: what's the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Managing interactions between more than, like, three characters can get tricky sometimes. That being said, this chapter was very fun to write--espeeecially that memo between the Strilondes. :D Also, this is the longest chapter so far. Just FYI. 
> 
> I debated whether or not to post this now because it's 4am and I thiiiink I might be doing stuff tomorrow, and also because once again I'm only a chapter and a half ahead rather than two chapters, whoops. It's kinda arbitrary, but it just feels safer somehow. Although, if updates do start slowing down exponentially, it's because a new semester starts next week and I have classes every weekday this semester. I think the average chapter length is increasing, though, so maybe that makes up for it?
> 
> ALSO: for the pesterlogs with multiple people with the same chumhandle abbreviations, let me know if you want me to add numbers rather than just colours to set them apart (TT1 and TT2, for example).


	13. Friendly Conversation Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was almost a welcome break from the routine of breakfast, rest, chores, demon-fighting, repeat. Thinking about it, it was quite amazing that Karkat had managed to prevent himself from getting killed long enough to have prompted this particular series of events._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50,000+ words, woooo! And it's only been a month since I started this. Exactly a month, in fact. Allow me a moment to be impressed by myself:
> 
> I am impressed by myself.
> 
> Okay you can read the chapter now.

**i.**

Karkat’s head was stuck on the dual mantras of: _“how did I get myself into this shitshow of a situation??”_ and _“I am the biggest fucking idiot in any universe ever_.” The latter was a common theme for him. Like, ever since he walked out Prospit’s gates and didn’t once look back. That had been… what, all of two weeks ago? Not even? With everything that had happened, it was all but impossible to know. It felt like an age, in any case.

The result of it all was that he was stuck in a cell in a makeshift military prison across enemy lines. Well, across lines of the enemy that had almost become and now were _supposed_ to become allies.

“Well, Vantas,” he muttered to himself, sat with his knees to his chest in one corner of the cell, “you really fucked up this time.”

In all honesty, after a week of breaking bread with the Dersian soldiers on the Dersian side of the lines, helping the Dersians with their demon problems, he hadn’t thought this turn of events possible.

Yesterday morning, he’d been approached by a messenger telling him to report to the command tent. He’d made his way over, and Commander Peixes had been there waiting for her peace meeting group to assemble. She’d grinned that piranha’s grin and directed him to stand with the other “prawns” she’d recruited—all trolls, Karkat couldn’t help but notice. Looked like she’d been serious about gathering as many trolls as she could. In fact, when the entire party was assembled and being loaded into buggies to transport them to the Prospitian frontlines, he’d only counted two or three humans out of about fifteen in total. All of differing ranks and gender… but not species, apparently. Somehow this seemed fitting with what Karkat had seen of Meenah’s character so far. Not to mention the fact that she was fuchsia-blooded, so this sort of elitism was just par for the course, really.

So then ensued the hour of sitting in the back of a military buggy with several fellow low-ranking military trolls, jolting and shuddering over the battlefield’s thoroughly chewed-up ground. And while it had been ridiculously fucking uncomfortable and generally not fun at all, it had been fairly uneventful. In fact, it was almost a welcome break from the routine of breakfast, rest, chores, demon-fighting, repeat. _That_ had gotten boring very quickly. Once the terror of facing down a writhing, wriggling mess of demons every night had worn off. Thinking about it, it was quite amazing that Karkat had managed to prevent himself from getting killed long enough to have prompted this particular series of events.

Although, was that really for the better?

The cadet buggy was the last to reach the impromptu meeting place at the point determined to be the exact split between Dersian and Prospitian battle lines. A large tent had been set up—a golden, circus-esque monstrosity which was so unbelievably Prospitian that Karkat wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh, cry, or roll his eyes. He opted for the lattermost.

As Karkat jumped down from the back of the buggy, he saw a Prospitian cadet run up to Meenah with a hasty salute. “Commander Peixes,” he said, a little breathless, “Commander Serket is awaiting your audience inside.”

Karkat’s heart thudded at the thought that Vriska, his friend-but-not-really-because-she-was-a-bitch, was just on the other side of that golden cloth. What would she do, if she saw him? Did he even want to find out?

“My audience!” Meenah barked. “I ain’t royalty, small fry.”

The cadet bowed his head in apology. “Well then, she’s, uh, waiting for you. Alone. Unfortunately her commanders were tied up and won’t be here until later.”

“Commander to Commander, then? Sounds fin to me.” She turned to Vice Commander Zahhak and Captain Ampora, who flanked her like she was the leader of their little Dersian Military Command posse. “Keep the fishies under control for me until Serket’s officers get here. Then join us.”

The Vice Commander and the Captain both saluted and voiced their assent. Commander Peixes nodded. The cadet lead her to the door-flap of the tent, held it open for her while she went in, and then stood to one side as a door guard. Seeing this, Captain Ampora’s eyes visibly narrowed. He turned and assessed the Dersian party, then pointed at Karkat.

“You!” he barked, then hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Guard the door.”

Karkat shrugged and started forwards.

“I can’t hear you, sailor!” Captain Ampora demanded. Holy fuck, the guy was ridiculously dedicated to the ship analogy. Maybe it made him feel like he was the most important person, being Captain and all.

“Fucking aye aye, Captain,” Karkat growled.

Ampora frowned, but didn’t press the issue. So Karkat dragged his feet over to the entrance of the tent and stood on the Dersian side of the door flap. The Prospitian cadet eyed him up briefly as he approached, and Karkat, of course, returned the gesture. Human, brown-haired, nothing remarkable. Karkat gladly kept his eyes forward and ignored the guy.

From here, he could hear the voices inside the tent: Meenah’s punchy drawl, and the unmistakeably irritating sing-song lilt of one Vriska Serket, youngest ever Battle Commander of the Prospitian forces. He could hear the buzz of their voices, but he couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. The tent must have been made of thicker material than he realised, so, out of curiosity, he strained his ears to try and hear them more clearly.

“Do you Dersians really have such a heavily weighted troll to human aspect ratio, or is your commander just trying to show off?” said the douchebag standing across from him.

_“I’m not Dersian, fuckface,”_ Karkat wanted to say. “What’s it to you?” he said instead.

The cadet shrugged. “Just wondering. I mean, there’s really no reason to be trying to intimidate us anymore. Not if there’s a truce being negotiated.”

“Who says it won’t just fall through?” Karkat said, mainly just to be contrary. It was like a knee-jerk reaction, he couldn’t help it.

The cadet scoffed. “I don’t think our respective rulers are quite _that_ stupid. Although, really, it’s only a matter of time until your King comes back and starts messing everything up again.” He laughed. “No offense, or anything.”

Alright, this guy was a complete douchehorn. Karkat was technically on _his_ side, for fuck’s sake, and he was offended by his condescending manner.

“Hey, do me a fucking favour,” he growled, “and shut the fuck up. We’re here to discuss a ceasefire, not have fucking friendly conversation time.”

“ _They_ don’t seem to take issue with having friendly conversation time,” the asshole pointed out, jerking his head towards the tent. It was true: the timbre of the voices coming from inside was categorically friendly. Right at that moment, Karkat could swear he heard Vriska’s pealing laughter.

“Fucking whatever,” Karkat grouched. “Just don’t fucking talk to me.”

The douchehat shook his head. “Dersians, man. You’re all the same. Truce or no truce, I don’t think Prospitians and Dersians can ever really be _friends_.”

At _that_ , Karkat wanted to launch himself across the gap and rip this _unbelievable fucking asshole’s_ face off, but luckily (for the other guy), a military buggy had just rolled up from the Prospitian side, and jumping out were Vriska’s two highest officers. Karkat recognised them on sight: Rufioh Nitram, Tavros’ esteemed cousin, and Latula Pyrope, Terezi’s “super rad” older sister. From what Karkat knew, Terezi had always had a far less tumultuous relationship with Latula than what Karkat’d had with Kankri. Honestly—they weren’t even their real siblings. Troll family structures, once entirely non-existent, had built up around adoption and blood casting. The humans swore blind that the hemospectrum held no social significance anymore, but they knew fuck all, evidently. It was kind of really fucking important if, you know, you actually wanted any chance of being adopted once you’d wiggled through the city gates. Or if you were like Karkat.

The Prospitian officers were approached by the Dersian officers, and they exchanged formal greetings before turning and making their way towards the tent. Towards Karkat.

“Oh, fuck,” Karkat muttered. “ _Fuck._ ” The only thing running through his mind was the word “fuck” and the overwhelming desire to hide. Latula was going to recognise him, and there was no doubt she would know what had happened—what he’d _done_. Terezi would have told her everything. Fuck! She would have told Vriska everything, too, they were moirails for _fuck’s_ sake. Why didn’t he realise that earlier? Why had he agreed to come on this dumb _fucking_ peace trip? _Why was he even here in the first place?!?_

But there was nowhere to go, so he just stood there like a fucking moron, internally tearing himself to pieces and trying not to shit himself with the effort it took to not just turn and fucking _run_ , because hey! That would _really_ help him avoid notice! And the four officers drew closer, and closer, and closer—

The recognition that alighted on Latula’s face quickly morphed into confusion. “Whoa, Vantas junior?” Karkat closed his eyes, wishing he could be anywhere but here. “What are you doing here?”

“You… know this cadet?” Ampora questioned. Karkat opened his eyes. The four officers had stopped in front of him, and everyone— _everyone_ —was staring at him.

“Uh, yeah, of course I do, why would you—” She noticed Karkat’s noticeably Dersian uniform. “Oh. Uh,” she frowned, “Karkat, is this… is this what you ran away from Prospit to do?”

“No!” Karkat exclaimed reflexively. “Fuck no! I didn’t want—I hadn’t meant to—I just—”

“Wait, what?!” Ampora demanded, his weird accent making the outburst sound especially surprised. And stupid. He rounded on Karkat. “You’re a dirty glubbin’ Prospitian?!”

Latula put her hands over her mouth. “Oh, shit, sorry, little man! Didn’t mean to blow your cover like that!”

Karkat was… speechless. Honestly, he didn’t know what he could do or say that wouldn’t make this situation ten million times worse than it already was.

Turns out, he didn’t need to.

The rustling of fabric came from beside him. “What the glub is goin’ on out here?” said Meenah, as she swept the tent-flap aside.

Ampora turned to her. “Him!” he said, pointing accusatorily at Karkat. “He’s a fuckin’ Prospitian!”

“Karkat?” Now Vriska was standing in the tent entrance. She sounded surprised, but the unmistakeable undertone of Vriska Serket™ delight was rife in her voice. “What the fuck are _you_ doing here? And in Dersian garb, no less? My, you’ve been busy in your time away from Prospit!”

“Cram it, Serket,” Karkat growled, clenching his fists. Against his conscious will, his body was tensed for fight-or-flight. Despite how much he tried to tell himself that there was no fighting this and no running away. He just had to face it, because it was no less than he fucking well deserved.

Meenah frowned at Karkat. “Prospit, huh? Wouldn’ta guessed it.”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m a fucking Prospitian. No, I did _not_ mean to end up on the battlefield, and I wouldn’t have if not for your idiot fucking King’s decree about minor convicts being sent to fight at Skaia, and if not for your fucked up kingdom’s minor convicts being mostly innocent troll and human men and women just trying to fucking well _survive_ or _get from place to place_.” He paused for breath, his eyes darting around the shoddily assembled audience of military leaders, and that douchebag human who looked gratifyingly surprised. “I mean, for _fuck’s_ sake, your own fucking prince nearly got killed because of that dumb fucking law—and might have if not for yours truly, I might add! What the _fuck_?”

It was silent for a moment, other than Karkat’s heaving breaths. Fuck, he always got so out of breath when he got pissed off, which was probably way too fucking often to be good for his blood pressure or something dumb like that that a human might tell him. Fucking fuck, he was just so _sick_ of all of this. He’d left Prospit to escape feeling fed up all the time, and only gotten himself landed in a situation where he was still fucking fed up, as _well_ as in an unfamiliar environment across enemy lines, and now this. This confrontation. All because of some stupid decision he’d made in a fit of pique. Most everything that was wrong in his life could be contributed to some stupid decision he made in some fit of pique, because he was in a fit of pique _every five fucking minutes_ because he kept making stupid fucking decisions! He was a self-fulfilling prophecy embodied! The cycle of shit-eating personified! Karkat Vantas, the living fuck-up. That was him.

He regretted his existence. That’s really all there was to it.

“You done?” Meenah asked.

Karkat nodded stiffly, still breathing heavily through flared nostrils.

“So…” she began. “When I asked you if you wanted to leave, and you said you’d stick around…”

Karkat closed his eyes again, and sighed. “I figured I didn’t have anywhere fucking better to be.”

Meenah echoed his sigh. “Arrest him.”

“What?” Karkat yelped in genuine surprise, as Latula started forwards with, “Whoa, dude, that is _so_ not rad!”

“Neither is counterfeit and deceit!” Ampora insisted. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he was quieted by a look from Meenah.

A nearby Dersian cadet came forward to pull Karkat’s hands behind his back, and another came along with a pair of handcuffs. He didn’t resist: he was already resigned to the reality that he’d once again irreversibly fucked up his own life.

“We’re supposed to be at a ceasefire, aren’t we?” Rufioh spoke up. “This hardly seems fair.”

“A ceasefire is a different kettle of fish from a truce,” Meenah reminded him. She turned to Vriska. “Unless you have any particular objections?”

Vriska grinned that same-old shit-eating grin, right at Karkat. “None at all. Do with him as you will. He _soooooooo_ deserves it, for fooling you like that!”

“Go to hell,” Karkat spat at her as the cadet holding his arms tugged him roughly in the direction of the military buggies. He figured he didn’t need to be respectful to these military bigwigs anymore, now that he was a convict all over again.

“I’ll be sure to let Terezi know that you’re safe!” Vriska cackled, and Karkat’s blood-pusher sank right through the ground.

So that was how Karkat Vantas found himself huddled in the corner of a shitty fucking cell in the most secluded tent at Dersian HQ.

“Fuck my life,” he muttered to himself, burying his face in his knees and wishing for the millionth time in the past hour alone that it would all just go away. _Fuck. My. Life._

 

**ii.**

Dave wandered into the Dusk Hall—the dining room mostly used by the Strider-Lalonde royal family (plus guests) for dining purposes—to find John chowing down on some cereal.

He stopped in the doorway. “Sup,” he said.

“Hey,” John replied, looking startled.

“Late breakfaster, huh?” Dave asked, wandering over to the north end of the hall to examine the breakfast spread. Mostly cereal, since all the hot stuff had either gone cold or been eaten by this point. This is what he got for sleeping in. Meh, he wasn’t really that hungry anyway.

“I guess.”

Dave spotted the apple logo and was drawn to it like a magnet. Except, he was dismayed to find the bottle empty but for a few meagre dregs of apple juice. “Aw, fuck,” he said aloud. “What kind of fucking animal even _does_ this?”

John laughed. “I guess the apple juice obsession wasn’t just for show, huh?”

“Fuck no.” Dave turned to look at him. He was just sitting there, with his cereal, right in the waist of the table. He had _far_ too much milk for the amount of cereal he seemed to have, which seemed like a waste to Dave. But, whatever. Dave wasn’t really a cereal person anyway. “Apple juice is my life, man. My one true love.”

“Incredible.” John shook his head. “Most people are really different in person than how they are online, but you and Rose… you’re almost exactly the same. It’s kinda creepy, actually.”

“Is it?” Dave shrugged, and moved to sit across from John. “I dunno, man. Isn’t the whole point of the pesterchum initiative to make friends based off of personality? What’s the point if you’re just going to be someone else rather than yourself, right?”

“Fair logic,” John agreed. He frowned. “It’s still really weird to me that we’re interacting in person, though.”

“Tell me about it.”

“And that you’re royalty.”

“ _Tell_ me about it.”

“And that Rose is a Seer of Light?”

“Ugh, fucking _don’t_ tell me about it, she does enough of that herself.”

John giggled—actually legitimately fucking giggled, wow. Dave didn’t know dudes were capable of giggling, but there he was. Giggling. “She is, uh, pretty verbose.”

“You’re telling me. Even though I literally just told you not to, man, come the fuck on.”

“Right, sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it. Hey, let’s talk about how I saved your life yesterday and you’re totally fucking indebted to me.”

“Oh, yeah! Damn, dude, that _was_ pretty incredible. How did you even know what was going to happen?”

Dave blinked—although John wouldn’t be able to see, because shades. “Okay, I’ve changed my mind, let’s not talk about that.” The truth was, not even Dave knew what had happened. He’d been standing there, feeling kind of okay apart from the fact that he was undeniably the worst out of his siblings when it came to fronting as a respectable member of the royal family. Then, very suddenly, this _cold_ feeling had washed over him. Everything else had dimmed out a little—the voices, his vision, even the feeling of being in his body. Then, just as abruptly, everything was _hot_ , hotter than Lohac in summer, and everything around him had kind of… skipped forwards, and he’d seen the ram-horned troll appear out of thin air and hurl her sharpened knitting needles straight through John’s heart.

When he’d finally snapped back into the present, into his own body, he’d felt like either throwing up or passing out. Instead, he couldn’t help but feel like whatever hallucination he’d just had was about to happen for real, so he’d acted without even really thinking. But honestly, the biggest achievement had been managing to avoid puking his guts out until he’d reached the safety of his own quarters. He’d been late to dinner, but he’d made up for it with a voracious fucking appetite. That was one common theme with all of these fucked up things that had been happening to him all week—once the nausea faded and his heart calmed the fuck down, he was always hungry enough to eat an entire banquet.

“Uh, okay,” John conceded.

“How about we talk about how I’m not the only royalty in the room right now?” Dave suggested.

John frowned. “I’m not really royalty,” he said.

“You’re Jake’s brother, aren’t you? And he’s a prince? That makes you a prince, dude. I’m all caught up on the implications of being the brother of a prince and I’ve had significantly less time to come to terms with it than you have.”

“It’s not like that, though,” John insisted, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I mean, I guess technically, yeah, I am a prince, but not a legitimate one.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “What does _that_ mean?”

“Well, uh, Jade and I both, actually. We’re illegitimate children. Born out of wedlock.”

Dave raised both his eyebrows. “Oh really, now? This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the adulterous relations you mentioned the late Queen having with… who was it again?”

“Her sister’s husband,” John said gravely. “And yes, yes it would. Those are mine and Jade’s parents.”

“Holy shit,” Dave laughed. “And I thought my family was fucked up. How does your family tree even _work_?”

John rolled his eyes. “Man, I knew you would get a kick out of this.”

“I get a kick out of anything this fucked up, man,” Dave admitted. “Just clarify it for me, and then I’ll enlighten you as to the dark history of the Lost Prince and Princess of Derse.”

“Uh… When you put it like that, I’m not sure I want to know. But okay, fine. So, the previous, previous Queen had two daughters. The eldest became the Queen, and she got married and had Jane—the current Queen.”

“Okay. Fairly linear so far,” Dave said.

“Yeah, I guess.” John shrugged. “Less than a year after that, the Queen’s younger sister got married and they had Jake.”

“And now Jake and Jane are engaged? Man, that shit just seems weird and incest-y to me,” said Dave, exaggerating a repulsed shudder.

John rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s just an old traditional thing, I guess. they’ve been promised to each other since they were babies—keeping royal blood royal, and all that.”

“Sounds like a one-way ticket to genetic mutation, to me.”

“Hey! I’m not a mutant!” John said indignantly.

“I didn’t say you were,” said Dave. “Your parents weren’t cousins.” He paused. “Were they?”

“No!” Now it was John’s turn to pause. “Jane’s were, though.”

“Well, then…”

“But she’s not a mutant either! Anyway, speaking of Jane’s father, he died a little while after Jake was born. Illness, I think.”

“So they say.”

John rolled his eyes. “It was cancer, Dave.”

“Oh. Well now I just feel like an asshole.” Admittedly, he kind of was an asshole. Maybe a little bit. Or a lot, depending on the situation.

“Yeah. And a little while after _that_ , there was apparently some huge media exposé about how the King and the Queen’s sister—Jake’s mother—had been involved in some illicit sexual relationship up until the time of his death.”

“Sounds racy,” said Dave. “And kind of sick. As in legitimately _sick_ , sick, not sick like in the context of, “whoa, man, those are some sick fires” or whatever.”

“Uh, yeah, that’s one way to put it. You’ll forgive me for not going into much detail about it.”

“What? Fuck no, I want all the details.”

“Nope! No way, nuh-uh. Maybe sometime I’ll dig out the old news archives for you, but I am _not_ telling you about it over breakfast.” He glanced down at his forgotten bowl of cereal. Or rather, his bowl of milk. Surely whatever cereal was left in the bowl had straight-up gone and disintegrated by now. “So anyway, after all that, Jake’s mother was so scandalised that she absconded the city with baby Jake, and no one saw either of them for years.”

“Is that why the dude has such a fucking weird way of talking?”

“Yeah, I guess. In the meantime, the Queen and Jake’s father were pretty much left to their own devices in the palace, and… well, less than a year later, Jade came along. Then, less than a year after _that_ , for whatever reason, Jake’s father took Jade and left the castle. A couple of months later, and I was born. A couple months after _that_ , and Jake’s dad turned up dead on the streets of the lower city.”

“Shit,” said Dave. “What happened to Jade, then?”

“I’m getting to that. When I was born, I wasn’t exactly… well, wanted. I was illegitimate _and_ fatherless, so the Queen just dumped me on the doorstep of Prospit’s human orphanage. Coincidentally, it was the same place Jake’s father had left Jade. Uh, I guess I should stop referring to him as Jake’s father, since he’s technically mine and Jade’s father, too.” John frowned. “Though it’s strange to think of him that way. We mostly grew up with no parents at all.”

“I get it, bro. Dirk and Roxy mostly refer to our “father” as the King, since apparently he was a piss poor excuse for a father in any meaningful sense of the word. And he was definitely never a father to me and Rose, especially since… uh, you should finish your story.” Dave smirked sheepishly. “So, how did you and Jade end up learning of your illegitimate royal roots?”

John sighed. “You are a serious pro at interrupting. I thought it was bad on pesterchum, but it’s even worse in real life.”

“I think you mean _better_ ,” Dave corrected.

“I don’t. So, a few years later, Jake’s mother turned up at the palace again—with Jake, of course. I guess she figured that after a good few years, people might have forgotten about the scandal surrounding her. I guess they must not have, or something, because a few months later she was found dead in her quarters.”

He paused for dramatic effect. So, of course, Dave felt the need to ruin it. “Wait, what? But how did she die?”

John just gave him a look. “How do you think, Dave?”

Dave shrugged. “Poison?”

John continued to give him that look.

“Alright, alright, I’m fucking with you. What, she killed herself? Over a sex scandal with an invalid?”

John shrugged. “No one really knows for sure why. The only person who would have known is… well.”

“Right.”

“Yeah. So then, a couple of years later, Jane and Jake found out about me and Jade, then they came and found us at the orphanage and we kept in contact for a few years before the Queen essentially just said “fuck it” and invited us to live at the castle. Under the guise of a goodwill project, taking on poor orphans as her wards.”

“But, uh… you and Jake look pretty alike, you know. Surely people were pretty damn suspicious about that.”

“Of course.” John smiled, almost mischievously. “The Prospitian media is, like, scary dedicated. So, anyway, that’s the story of my family tree. In a nutshell.”

Dave took a big breath. “Holy shit, dude. That’s way fucked up.”

John laughed. “I know!”

“But,” Dave continued, holding up a single finger. “Nowhere near as fucked up as the childhood I am about to recount to you,” he said dramatically. “Starting with the time the King ordered a hit on me and Rose when we were four.”

“What?” John’s eyes visibly widened behind his dorky spectacles. “I thought you were joking about that!”

“John, when do I ever joke about these things?”

“Um. Literally all the time.”

Dave’s pesterchum went off—he’d forgot he’d left it logged on. He decided he may as well check it while he talked, because he was just a pro at multitasking.

timaeusTestified [TT] opened memo on board STRILONDESFTWWWW.  
  
TT: Hey. I need to talk to you all at some point today.  
TT: Mostly Rose and Dave, but it’s relevant to all of us. I’m sure you can probably guess what it’s about.

“So, yeah, according to Roxy, some bullshit went down with a Bard and a prophecy that implied that Rose and me would be the King’s downfall or whatever, so he went to a Witch and was all, “yo, take care of them for me.” And I mean take care of as in, like, _take care of_ , not take _care_ of, you know?”

“No,” said John.

tentacleTherapist [TT] responded to memo.  
TT: Does it, perchance, have something to do with the negotiations?  
TT: Guess again.  
TT: Our gutsy but quiet new prisoner, left to fester in the private cells in the Palace basement?  
TT: Bingo.

“Yeah you do, man, don’t lie. But for whatever reason, the Witch just decided to wipe our memories and dump us on the streets of some shitty town to fend for ourselves for the next couple of years. We were bona fide fuckin’ street rats, man, and we were _good_ at it.” It had felt like a shitty thing to admit when he was living at the temple, but for ages he’d almost _missed_ the street hooligan lifestyle. It was better than feeling like a prisoner whilst simultaneously being ignored by all but one person. The whole slummin’ it on the streets thing never had suited Rose, though, so even now he didn’t plan to ever bring it up with her.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] responded to memo.  
TG: oooooh i am intrigesd  
TG: *intrigues  
TG: *intrigued  
TG: ack  
TG: i havent even started drinking yet guys i swear :(  
TT: “Yet.”  
TT: So are you two able to make it to my quarters sometime soon?

“When the King found out we weren’t dead, he was fuckin’ pissed, and when he couldn’t kill the Witch, he was even _more_ pissed, so he just banned witchcraft instead.”

TT: Also, where’s Dave?  
turntechGodhead [TG] responded to memo.  
TG: im here  
TG: sorry im trying to socially interact irl   
TG: but im like half paying attention

John frowned. “Is that what happened? That hardly seems fair.”

“Apparently. I only know all this from Roxy. No, it isn’t fair. Banning a whole class just because of one person? It’s pretty seriously fucked, but... that’s just the King, I guess.” Dave pursed his lips. “Honestly, it’s kind of weird thinking that he’s still out there somewhere, doing whatever he’s doing.” He paused. “Unless he crawled away just to die, like a fucking cat or something. Who knows?”

TT: Is now fine?  
TT: I was about to head to the temple. I wanted to check the archives before the negotiation meeting later. Preparation, you could call it.  
TT: Now’s perfect, actually.  
TT: I’d rather sooner than later. It’s not of huge import, I suppose, but I just don’t know if there’ll be time later.  
TT: Or if we’ll be so embroiled in negotiations and inundated with political prose that we just won’t have any fuckin’ energy to do anything but whack our heads repeatedly against the nearest hard surface.

“So when Rose started showing her Seer powers, we moved to the temple, discovered the joy of computation—which is how we met you and Jade—and lived there for ten years, until just over a week ago, when Rose suddenly decided it was time to ditch that joint, and so here we are. Returned and triumphant, reclaiming our ancestral names of Strider and Lalonde… it doesn’t really make sense to me why Dirk and I have different surnames from Rose and Roxy, but I guess you can just chalk it up to royal bullshit.”

It was a considerably shorter story than what John’s had been, but to be fair, he was leaving out a lot of detail—gladly. And honestly, the most fucked-up stuff was the stuff that had been totally wiped out of his life. Rose undoubtedly knew more about it than he did.

TG: now is gud 4 me 2  
TG: well uh  
TG: i just got out of the shower so i have to get dressed first  
TG: but after that  
TT: I would definitely prefer it if you got dressed first.  
TT: Dave?

“And… that’s it, I guess. It seems a lot less fucked up than your history when I tell it like that.”

TG: nah man roxy doesnt have to wear clothes if she doesnt feel like it  
TT: ...Dave. Really.  
TG: what  
TG: lmao

John hummed. “I don’t think it’s less fucked up, there’s just… less drama? Um, not really, uh… I don’t know. It’s just different.”

TT: Dave.  
TG: yeah yeah i know im sorry ill head over asap  
TT: Good.

“I think the conclusion is,” Dave said, standing up. “That we come from surprisingly similar backgrounds and are totally bro-bonding over that fact as we speak.”

“Yeah!” John agreed, laughing. “Hey, where are you going?”

TT: I hope I’m not interrupting your IRL social interaction.  
TG: nbd  
TT: I’ll see you all shortly, then.

“I’m needed elsewhere,” Dave explained. “But hey, I’ll catch you at the negotiations later on. Fuck, that’s going to be boring as hell.”

“Probably, yeah. Ah well. See you then.”

“Yeah. See you.” Dave left the room, without bothering to close the door behind him.

KARKAT: WE’RE HERE TO DISCUSS TERMS, NOT HAVE FUCKING FRIENDLY CONVERSATION TIME.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still confused by the fuckery that is Prospit's royal family? [Here's a family tree](https://i.imgur.com/Q0H37pb.png). Sorry about my handwriting, though, whoops. ~~Think about how the people who have to grade my exams must feel.~~
> 
> So, the thing where Dave found an almost empty bottle of apple juice? That literally happened to me last night. Went to get myself some 2am aj and there was less than half a glass left in the bottle. Sometimes I write in things that actually happened... this time I wrote something and _then_ it actually happened. Not really sure how to feel about it.


	14. Mystery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The assassin, from yesterday. She’s being held in the palace cells, as you know. I figured helping to sort out this calibre of bullshit is probably somewhere in the long convoluted list detailing my job as Prince Regent, so I went to ask her a few questions last night.”_

Rose nudged open the door to find the Prince Regent pacing in front of his document-laden desk.

“Do you make a habit out of wearing down the carpet?” she jibed good-naturedly.

He stopped and inclined his head at her. “Only lately.”

She smiled. “How bad is it?”

He sniffed. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

Rose hummed, crossing the room to perch at the end of Dirk’s bed. “Nothing in my vision points to anything of significance surrounding a teleporting assassin, if that’s what you mean.”

“It isn’t. Not quite.” Dirk frowned. “We should wait until Dave and Roxy are here. Realistically, yours is the only opinion I need, but I’d rather not keep them in the dark, and I’d rather not repeat myself.”

“That’s fair,” Rose commented. “For all your insecurity about how the council sees you, I believe you make a better Prince Regent than you give yourself credit for.”

Dirk scoffed, and went back to pacing, albeit with less intensity. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it appears to mean. I don’t think I have to tell you that I can’t actually see the future, despite what Dave might insist upon, but from what I can tell, you’re likely to be Prince Regent for a good deal longer than you would like. It’s just lucky that liking something and being good at it are mutually exclusive.”

“Great,” Dirk sighed. “That’s comforting.”

“Sorry.” Rose pursed her lips, spreading her hands apologetically. “You told me last week that you wanted my unsweetened and unadulterated input. So there it is.”

“No, it’s fine, I appreciate it, It’s just…” He ran a hand through his hair. “There’s obviously always going to be that disconnect between what information I want to know and what knowledge I want to have. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“Of course. I’m a Seer of Light—information and knowledge are my bread and butter.”

“Sounds like a disappointing breakfast to me,” said Dave as he sauntered in, hands deep in his pockets as always. He’d finally taken to wearing his circlet—the standard mark of Dersian Royalty—purely for “Roxy’s sicknasty modules,” but it would seem that he refused to discard the baggy shirts and skinny jeans. At least now they were well-made and clean.

“Looks like we’re just waiting for Roxy,” observed Dirk, once again pausing his pacing in favour of leaning against the edge of his desk..

“Looks like,” agreed Dave, plopping himself down next to Rose.

“How’s your head?” she questioned, eyeing the still-visible gash just above his right-side temple. The doctor had returned to the palace two days ago to give Dave a check up and remove the stitches, just in time for the delegates to arrive. Dave hadn’t mentioned anything wrong, but that didn’t necessarily mean everything was rainbows and butterflies—in fact, it almost certainly wasn’t. He’d seemed more jumpy than usual, flinching at the smallest things and denying it when confronted about it. Conveniently not mentioning when something was wrong had been Dave’s modus operandi for about as long as Rose could remember, and whilst she supposed part of that could be blamed on their patchy upbringing, she couldn’t help but feel like the other part might be her own fault; for keeping them in that temple for so long. No matter how much she reminded herself that it was simply how their early lives had needed to play out, guilt was one hell of a stubborn emotion. It refused to be moved by logic and reasoning, which was unfortunate, because Rose had a veritable _abundance_ of logic and reasoning.

“Fine,” Dave answered. “Better, I guess. Doesn’t hurt.”

Rose nodded. “And the dizziness? The confusion?”

“Things of the past.”

“How about your ribs?”

Dave made a minute movement with his head that suggested he was rolling his eyes behind his obnoxious shades. “They’re fine, _mother_.”

“Just “sister” will do,” Rose replied coyly, just as Roxy flounced in.

“Who’s doing sisters?” she asked cheerily.

Dirk groaned and Dave covered his face with his hands, shaking his head. Rose just watched them in amusement.

“Rox, no,” Dirk scolded. “And close the door please.”

“Aye, aye,” Roxy giggled, obliging Dirk and daintily kicking the door closed, before sprawling sideways over Dirk’s sofa.

“Okay great, the fam’s all here, what’s the sitch, bro?” said Dave.

“I wish you would speak English,” Rose lamented.

“No need,” said Dirk. “I’m going to get right into this before one of you—looking at you two in particular—” he pointed back and forth between Dave and Roxy “—gets us off topic again. The assassin, from yesterday. She’s being held in the palace cells, as you know, as a matter of not only Royal but diplomatic security. It has nothing to do with the common people, so the police aren’t involved. I figured helping to sort out this calibre of bullshit is probably somewhere in the long convoluted list detailing my job as Prince Regent, so I went to ask her a few questions last night.”

“Good cop or bad cop?” Dave asked without missing a beat.

“Fuck, I think _she_ was the bad cop in her own interrogation. The point is, we have double the reason to decide what to do with her as quickly as possible. Firstly, she’s a Witch. Secondly, she’s a Witch of _Time_.”

Roxy gasped, sitting up straight on the sofa. “Do you mean…”

Dirk looked directly at Rose and Dave. “Thirdly, she’s _the_ Witch of Time.”

Hm. Well. Rose supposed that _did_ complicate things slightly. However, even if this _was_ a Witch of Time, that shouldn’t interfere with Rose’s own powers, which were, after all, almost wholly objective (which at times could be irritating).

“What, you mean the one that stole mine and Rose’s memories and dumped us in Fuckville in the middle of where-the-fuck-ever?” Dave questioned. He clearly was trying to sound incredulous, but Rose could hear something far more telling in the slight waver of his voice.

Obviously a character as powerful as a Witch of Time was unlikely to have _no_ significance to the ideal future Rose was trying to guide the kingdoms towards, but perhaps she had already played her part twelve years ago. Without that, the current series of events would not be in motion, and the kingdoms would be very different indeed.

“The very fuckin’ same,” Dirk replied.

If that were so, if her role was played and significance spent, why was she here now? It wasn’t so far fetched that she really had just wanted to assassinate John, the illegitimate prince of Prospit and a far more potentially significant figure than most would think to give him credit for. Except she’d failed. From what Rose knew and had heard, she had no doubt that if one such as this Witch _really_ wanted someone dead, they would be dead. Yet John was no worse for the wear—except for perhaps a painful lump on the back of his head, courtesy of one Dave Strider.

“How do you know?” Roxy asked, her voice still hushed, as if the Witch were listening. “How do you know it’s her?”

Was the assassination attempt, then, just a red herring? A distraction, perhaps? Some sort of ploy? Her aspect was Time, so there was every possibility that she wasn’t even _from_ this particular position in the temporal continuum.

“She told me,” Dirk answered. “Like I said, it was more like _she_ was the bad cop. I asked her who she was and she told me she was a Witch of Time and an old friend of the King’s. She didn’t say anything after that, just fucking sat there staring at me and not answering any of my questions.”

It was unlikely that she would have come from the past, to pull off a stunt like that. Wasn’t it? It made more sense if she came from the future, even the near future. Rose didn’t know much about Time. _That_ she could admit. But she did know that as an individual forged their way along their own timelines, spent time built up behind them along with the knowledge they acquired along the way. To a Seer of Light, the ‘future’ was synonymous with enlightenment and realisation. So that meant that this Witch knew things… the truth of Rose and Dave’s past being one of them, but that hardly seemed significant given the tightrope-balance of the present climate and the vastness of what was to come.

“So she wouldn’t say anything about, like, _why_ she decided to teleport out of literal fucking thin air and hurl a sharp object in the general direction of a perfectly innocent idiot?” Dave questioned.

“I doubt her intention was to actually _kill_ John,” Rose finally chimed in. “She’s here for a purpose, that much is clear, but assassination is not one of them. It’s very likely she counted on your fast reactions, Dave.” Which meant she knew a thing or two about him. Interesting.

Dave’s head snapped towards Rose, a genuine expression of shock shuddering its way across his face as he reigned it in, tucking it neatly behind his shades.

“I doubt the guards would have been able to catch her if she truly hadn’t _wished_ to be caught,” Rose continued, frowning at Dave’s reaction. “If she _appeared_ so quickly and so suddenly, I have no doubt she could have _dis_ appeared in much the same fashion. And let’s not forget, our own father failed to kill her all those years ago.” It was interesting seeing the sour expression that immediately took over Roxy’s face at the words “our own father.” She hated thinking of him as such, Rose knew, but none of them could deny that the King was their progenitor, and they his progeny. “Witchcraft is still banned in Derse. No one would risk themselves in such a way without knowing they could escape when they needed to. She’s here for a purpose. We just need to figure out what that purpose is before she fulfils it.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Dirk asked.

“Yeah,” Dave said, “point us to the most fortuitous path, oh Seer of Light.”

“I really don’t know if there’s anything we _can_ do,” Rose answered honestly, ignoring Dave. “My lack of Sight about this may mean that we should simply let events play out however they will.”

Dave scoffed. “What, do nothing? Let her sit in the basement until she figures out how to get what she wants?”

“No one outside of this room knows about her being a Witch, do they?” Roxy asked Dirk. “That kind of news will spread like wildfire once it gets out, in no time there’ll be calls for her execution, and it’ll be bad news for us if we don’t deliver. It won’t mean anything good for the negotiations, either.”

“Unless anyone overheard my practically one-sided conversation with her last night, no. And I would hope they didn’t, given how I’d already dismissed the guards to give us some privacy,” Dirk replied. “You’re right, though, it would be straight up fucking inadvisable to just do nothing. Things could snowball wildly out of our control.”

“Maybe that’s what she wants,” Roxy intoned, and Rose got the distinct impression that she was only half-joking.

“We need to act,” Dirk said definitively. “By Friday, at the latest. Everyone will be too distracted by the negotiations for the time being, but the buzz around that will settle in a few days once they’re in full swing and completely fucking entrenched in the most boring part of the whole process: terms.”

Today was Tuesday. “So we have, what, three days to decide what to do about the Witch who played a pretty major part in fucking up our childhoods?” Dave asked incredulously.

“It’s less time than you think, especially given everything else going on,” Rose reminded him. “It should be enough, though. Perhaps even more than enough. May I talk to her, this evening?”

“Of course,” said Dirk. “Just to be careful how you go about it. And I’m talking about outward appearances—don’t let anyone outside of this room know you’re going down there, and make sure to either dismiss the guards or swear them to secrecy. Fuck it, do both.”

“I will be at my utmost stealthy and secret, and I will be certain to enforce this stealthy secrecy upon everyone I come across below the ground floor. I will go after dinner.” She was busy until then, anyway.

“If she didn’t tell _Dirk_ anything, what makes you think she’ll talk to you?” Dave prodded.

“I don’t know that she will,” Rose answered. “I like to think it’s worth a try, however. I think it’d be worth it if you talked to her, too, Dave.”

“No fucking way,” Dave shot back.

Rose couldn’t help but smile and shake her head at her twin brother’s misplaced obstinacy. “Well then, I believe we are done here.”

“I’d say we are,” Dirk confirmed.

“Then if you’ll excuse me,” Rose said, standing. “I have a date with the temple archives. Perhaps something there might shed some light on this infamous and elusive Witch of Time.”

 

In some of the local poetry Rose had read, one poet had used a detailed, and rather romantic analogy to describe Derse City: the portrait of a beautiful but sinister Queen (the first Queen of Derse, some believed). The poet had described the royal palace as the crown atop her head. The mark of royalty and of rule, representative of riches and power. Hiding all of the deepest secrets of the kingdom beneath its deadly glistening peaks. The temple, then, was the precious pendant around the Queen’s neck. Worn in counterpoint to the status and pomp of the crown, the pendant was brim-full of history and magic. An heirloom, a gem that’s seen cities rise and fall, acquired a few scratches, gone to the jewellers for restoration and returned half again as beautiful.

The metaphor, under all of its extravagant imagery, was quite apt, Rose found. The temple, so it was said, was older than the palace by at least a century—older than the city itself, even older than either of the two kingdoms. It had undergone various renovations over the years, of course, but those in charge of the upkeep were always passionate about maintaining the sense of wisdom locked within the temple’s walls. The way its years shone from the inside-out; the musty but not unpleasant smell of pure history. Every other temple in Derse was modelled after this one, but none of them quite captured the magic of the original. Rose couldn’t help but feel that the Temple of Light in Lolar was a very poor imitation indeed. The only thing it really had right was its size and rough shape and layout.

Rose had spent quite an amount of her time so far in Derse in the temple. Dave had commented on it, rather scathingly implying that she must have missed the Temple of Light. He had her wrong, and Rose knew that he would understand if only he’d agree to actually come _see_ the temple, but after escaping Lolar, Dave seemed to have realised how much he’d truly hated it there, and was loath to set foot in any other temples.

For her part, Rose much preferred this temple to the Temple of Light. The archives were far more expansive and in-depth, the atmosphere considerably less cagey, and the reverence towards her due to her class and aspect was kept to polite appreciation. The great temple of Derse was home to a good number of talents, in a number of aspects. Even better, as far as Rose was concerned, was that there were no priests or priestesses. Those who worked for the temple were known as Apostles, and many had titles of their own anyway.

As Rose gave her thanks to Arch, the driver, and ascended the steps to the temple, two figures appeared in the doorway—both familiar to Rose. It appeared that Sollux, the messenger who apparently had no true alliances, was just leaving the temple, being seen out by Feferi, an Apostle and one of Roxy’s good friends (although, Roxy was friends with just about everyone, it seemed). As they passed each other, Sollux offered Rose a tiny nod and she smiled in reply.

Feferi was still standing in the doorway when Rose reached it, watching Sollux walk away with a tiny smile on her face.

“I didn’t know our unbiased diplomat had friends in such high places,” Rose commented good-naturedly.

“Oh!” Feferi squeaked, as if startled out of a trance. And from the way she blushed fuchsia from the very roots of her hair, perhaps she had been, in a sense. “Um, it’s not like that! Well, not completely, at least.” She giggled. “Sollux is a Mage, didn’t you know?”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “I did not. Of what aspect, might I ask?”

Feferi pulled a face. “Doom. It’s not the easiest aspect to work with, and especially not with his class! But we’re helping him get a fish hook into his abilities.” She sighed. “I worry about him, though.”

“It’s not a crime to care,” said Rose, observing the wistful expression on the sea troll’s face.

“Of course not!” Feferi grinned. “As a Sylph of Life, it’s my job to care! So, how can I kelp you today, Rose?”

 

When years match months and days align,  
Once more shall they cross the line.  
Return the Seer, return the Knight,  
To set the fuse of fate alight.  
  
Time will falter, the past will fall.  
The light will neglect to illumine every hall.  
And the heart only finds the heat it desires  
When the void blossoms black, igniting dark fires.  
  
Every life will cry out, demanding a rematch,  
Demanding the hope in hopeless to finally hatch  
From a space that knows not the wisdom of inertion,  
Of waiting with bated breath through the ultimate incursion.

Rose would have loved to say that the lines were pretty self-explanatory, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Well, the _first_ stanza was obvious, but that was because it had already come to pass: twelve years to the day since Rose and Dave had disappeared from Derse, they’d returned to the city. Crossed the line into Derse. She the Seer, he the Knight. Rose, with her Sight, could confirm that their return had certainly “set the fuse of fate alight” in myriad ways. However, she suspected that most of them were purely coincidental, their arrival being more of an indication rather than an actual incitement.

She felt like the more significant stanzas were the second and third, which were considerably more nebulous and… well, it was obvious that this was a Bard of _Doom_ who had made this prophecy. Doom certainly was an intriguing aspect, but Rose most definitely didn’t envy any who dealt in it. In fact, knowing now that Sollux was a Mage of Doom went some way towards explaining his odd and moody disposition. Rose was really quite fortunate, she thought, to have Light at her aspect.

_Time will falter, the past will fall._ This was the only line that could potentially have any sort of significance to the Witch of Time currently sequestered away in the palace basement. In this instance, ‘time’ could potentially be the personification of one who’s aspect is time, or even the aspect itself. Even applying either of those possibilities to the line didn’t make its meaning any less obscure. It was, however, interesting to imagine the infamous Witch of Time ‘faltering’, although it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for something that could be described as a ‘falter’ to be completely intentional.

_The light will neglect to illumine every hall_. Part of Rose felt that perhaps she should be more disturbed by this line than she was, but she simply found it self-evident and inevitable. She _knew_ her Sight didn’t extend to everything, and she’d had years already to explore and come to terms with the limitations of her abilities. It was a non-issue, as far as she was concerned; simply something she had to accept, and do her best to deal with whatever consequences came of it.

She set the book of prophecies down on the table she sat at and opened her circlet’s chat module. Luckily, the very person she wished to talk to was online. Good.

\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG] \--  
  
TT: Hello, Jade.  
TT: I do hope you aren’t busy.  
GG: hi rose! no not really, not right now  
GG: what do you need? :)  
TT: There’s a mystery I’m trying to solve.  
GG: oooooh!  
TT: Which involves a rather slippery Witch.  
GG: ooooooooh!  
TT: And since you’re the closest thing I have to an expert on Witchcraft, I thought it pertinent to ask you for a few clarifications.  
GG: well, im willing to help in any way i can :)  
TT: I was counting on that.  
TT: Firstly, I might just ask you for a clarification on the overall scope on the abilities of a Witch. Limitations, exceptions to the rules, etcetera.  
GG: oh, well... thats tricky!  
GG: witches arent as thoroughly studied as some of the other classes since theyre supposedly quite rare, for good reason it would seem!  
GG: one tutor told me that a witchs powers are defined by a LACK of limitations. they sort of ARE the exceptions to the rules of most other classes  
GG: which i think is why witchcraft was banned in derse in the first place, before they were added to the temple as a legitimate class!  
GG: actually, i was talking to the high priestess of our pantheon the other day, and she thinks there might be lots of classes that we dont even know about yet!! which i think is really exciting  
GG: um, but thats not what you wanted to know sorry   
GG: i guess we witches sort of break the rules of our aspect and manipulate it a lot for whatever end we want to achieve  
GG: like, as a witch of space, the first thing ive been learning how to do is manipulate the space an object occupies  
GG: thereby breaking the rules, since mass cannot be created or destroyed, only rearranged in space  
GG: our high priestess is a maid of space, so she can manipulate objects in the space that they occupy within the rules of physics and the universe  
GG: but as a witch, i can do things like increase or decrease the size of an object! so by changing its mass im therefore breaking the rules of space itself!!  
GG: which is... kind of scary now that I think about it!  
TT: Space seems like a very interesting aspect.  
GG: yeah!!!  
GG: hehe, i guess i went a little bit off topic  
TT: No, it’s fine. You answered my question very well. Thank you, Jade.  
GG: no problem! :)  
TT: I’d be very happy to discuss our respective aspects sometime.  
GG: same!! i really want to learn more about light!! :O  
TT: I love your enthusiasm, but I’m unfortunately somewhat pressed for time right now.   
TT: I’d like to ask your opinion about what a Witch of Time might have the ability to achieve?  
GG: oh gosh...  
GG: i dont really know anything about time sorry!  
GG: but from what i know about witches... probably just about anything! o_o;  
TT: That’s certainly disconcerting.  
TT: Every class has its downfalls, however. For example, as a Seer, I only see what the Light deems to be relevant to the overall outcome. I don’t always see what I would like to be able to, and I consider it the primary weakness of my class. Surely Witches have something similar?

“Interesting reading material?”

Rose looked up. Standing above her clasping an armful of scrolls was Prospit’s own Sylph of Space.

“Mind-boggling, unfortunately,” Rose replied. “Not particularly light-reading.”

Kanaya deftly nudged the seat next to Rose out from under the table with her foot and lowered herself into it, letting the scrolls tumble carefully onto the tabletop. “Neither is any of this, I’m afraid to find.” She unrolled one scroll and, holding it open, slid it towards Rose. It was one of the temple’s treasured Historic Scrolls—the very first, the one detailing the discovery of the Aspects. Rose had only managed to read a couple of them herself: the language was… well, dense. Old-fashioned, and not in a charming way. Not to mention the scrawl it was written in.

Rose tsked sympathetically. “You’d think there’d be enough Apostles here for someone to actually translate these into something legible, let alone understandable,” she mused. Her pesterchum was still going off in a stream of lime-green over her left eye, which didn’t make it any easier to read the archaic, looped and linked letters.

“I’m not so sure,” Kanaya hummed. “Maintaining its original form maintains much of the history. The author’s original intent, as it were, rather than one translator’s interpretation of such.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Rose admitted. “Excuse me a moment.”

Kanaya smiled, showing off a pair of shining white fangs hanging over her lower lip. “Of course. I did not mean to interrupt anything.”

“Not at all,” Rose said graciously.

GG: um... nothing that ive encountered so far?  
GG: i havent been a witch very long though so im bound to run into something sooner or later  
GG: although im always being told not to overestimate my abilities, so maybe thats somewhat of a weakness? :O  
GG: that would make sense actually! whenever i try something new and i cant get it right i always have to remind myself that despite how it can sometimes seem, with all the neat things i AM able to do, that i cant actually do everything  
GG: for one, i cant go beyond the limitations of my aspect  
GG: so i guess we do have limitations after all...  
GG: actually, thinking about it, the downfall of most infamous witches in history has been because of them overestimating or overextending their abilities  
GG: trying to break the boundaries of their aspect or even their class  
GG: like, we may be able to manipulate our aspect to an incredible degree, but there are some things other classes can do that we cant i guess  
GG: theres this story about a witch of heart who fell in love with a boy, but he rejected her so she tried to steal his heart, so to speak  
GG: but that sort of thing is thief territory, see, so when a class other than a thief tries to do it, even a witch, it cant work out the way they want it to!  
GG: so the boy died, and his family was so upset about what the witch had done that they came into her house in the night and slit her throat  
GG: wow... i never realised how gruesome that story was until just now!! O_O  
GG: its a story the matron at the orphanage used to tell us all when we were really little  
GG: the moral of the story is supposed to be to know your own limitations   
TT: Well that certainly doesn’t seem like a traumatising tale to be telling to small children.  
GG: i didnt really think much of it as a kid to be honest! ^_^;  
TT: Thank you for your honest and enlightening answers, Jade. You’ve been a great help.  
GG: are you any closer to solving that mystery of yours then??  
TT: Hm... Perhaps not closer to solving it, but certainly more informed. Which is a boon in any circumstances, I would think.  
GG: certainly! :D  
TT: Unfortunately I have to cut our discussion short.  
GG: aw, ok!!  
GG: i need to pester my little brother anyway, i havent talked to him since last night  
GG: he probably still actually thinks that there might be a chance that you and dave arent “our” you and dave or something silly like that!!  
TT: That certainly would be silly of him. But if so, I’m sure he’ll come around soon enough. Dave’s particular brand of “humour” is one of a kind, after all.  
GG: hehe, sure is!!!  
GG: take care, rose! :)  
TT: You, too, Jade.  
  
\-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased bothering gardenGnostic [GG] \--

Rose logged out of pesterchum, closed the chat module and turned back to Kanaya, clearing her throat slightly. “Sorry about that. I was asking a friend for advice about a rather… delicate situation.”

Kanaya raised a slim eyebrow, jade-green eyes twinkling. “Anyone I might know, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Rose said coyly. She nodded at the scroll Kanaya was deciphering. “Have you cracked the secret of the author’s original intent just yet?”

“Not quite,” Kanaya returned. “I fully intend to, however.”

TT: There’s a mystery I’m trying to solve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /surreptitiously adds rosemary to the relationship tags  
> This chapter is my gift to those of you who love theorising and trying to figure out where my plot is going. I really don't think I need to say why. 
> 
> I've been getting out at least three updates per week up until this point but please don't be surprised if that rate slows down exponentially. :c I have a classes at 8am on Thursdays this semester guys. And no days off during the week. BUT, I've recently had a major surge of inspiration and enthusiasm so hopefully that will help. 
> 
> But you know what fuels my enthusiasm? Comments and encouragement. ;3 wonk


	15. Neurotic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As Dirk had predicted, it really was more like Prospit and the Strider-Lalondes versus the Dersian council. To their credit, some members of the council were more amicable and open-minded than others, but the ones that weren’t were, predictably, the ones that had more influence._

**i.**

\--  arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] \--  
  
AG: Hey girl!  
GC: H3Y!  
GC: SK414 TR34T1NG YOU W3LL?  
AG: Oh, fa8ulously!  
AG: Just hanging out, 8eating 8ack demons, telling everyone what to do. :::;)  
GC: TH4TS NO L3SS TH4N 1D 3XP3CT FROM YOU  
AG: I hope not!!!!!!!!  
AG: Anyway, there was actually something rather important I wanted to tell you a8out.  
GC: OH?  
AG: Yep, and that is: you don't have to worry a8out where Karkat's gotten himself to anymore.  
GC: WH4T??  
AG: Turns out, he's 8een playing the part of a dirty little traitor and fighting for Derse!!!!!!!!  
GC: WH4T????  
GC: TH4T DO3SNT S33M L1K3 SOM3TH1NG K4RK4T WOULD DO!  
AG: Oh, I highly dou8t that was his intention. The idiot got himself caught at Derse's 8order, and you know where they send everyone they apprehend for minor crimes.  
AG: Doesn't the lack of proper justice in Derse just make your toes curl, Terezi? It makes MY toes curl, and justice isn't even my forte like it is yours.  
GC: >:/  
GC: TH4TS 4CTU4LLY ON3 OF TH3 T3RMS OF TH3 TRUC3  
GC: FOR D3RS3 TO CH4NG3 SOM3 OF TH31R MOR3 3XTR3M3 L4WS 4ND D3CR33S  
GC: BUT 4NYW4Y HOW D1D YOU F1ND OUT 4BOUT K4RK4T?  
GC: 1S H3 OK4Y?  
AG: Peixes took a shine to him, it seems. Which is unfortun8 for her, if you ask me. She 8rought him to our ceasefire meeting.  
AG: I didn't know until after he'd 8een caught, of course. Rufioh and your sister had to show up l8, so it was her that recognised him.  
AG: It caused quiiiiiiiite the commotion, I must say! That Ampora dude needs to take a 8r8k from all his yelling and waving around.  
AG: 8ut anyway, there's no truce just yet, so our friend Cra8cakes was arrested, and rightfully so.  
GC: WH4T!  
AG: 8ut don't worry. Once the truce is in place they'll have no choice 8ut to release him, so this is really just more like a little punishment for him. A 8it of time out.  
AG: Well... he'll never 8e a8le to join any government institutions after this fiasco, 8ut that's pro8a8ly just as well, right?  
GC: 1 DONT KNOW...  
GC: 1 JUST F33L R34LLY GU1LTY 4BOUT TH1S WHOL3 S1TU4T1ON  
GC: OBV1OUSLY 1M GL4D TO KNOW H3S OK4Y, BUT 1 ST1LL F33L R3SPONS1BL3 FOR TH1S H4PP3N1NG 1N TH3 F1RST PL4C3  
AG: Oh, come on, Terezi. It's not your fault the guy's a neurotic asshole.  
GC: H3S NOT 4N 4SSHOL3!!  
GC: OK4Y, M4YB3 H3 1S SOM3T1M3S  
GC: BUT 1TS NOT H1S F4ULT D3RS3 H4S DUMB L4WS 4ND 1TS NOT H1S F4ULT 1 S41D 4LL TH4T STUFF TO H1M  
GC: H3S 4 V1CT1M OF C1RCUMST4NC3 JUST 4S MUCH 4S TH3 R3ST OF US 1N TH1S W4R  
GC: 1M 4 S33R OF M1ND, VR1SK4. 1 KNOW TH4T 1F 1D K3PT MY MOUTH SHUT NON3 OF TH1S WOULD H4V3 H4PP3N3D 4ND H3 M1GHT ST1LL B3 S4F3 4T HOM3 1N PROSP1T  
GC: 1 4LSO KNOW TH4T 1 W4SNT TH3 ONLY F4CTOR 1N H1S L34V1NG, BUT D3F1N1T3LY ON3 OF TH3 PR1M4RY C4T4LYSTS OK4Y? SO 1 F33L PR3TTY JUST1F13D 1N BL4M1NG MY OWN L4PS3 1N JUDG3M3NT!  
GC: 4ND L1K3 YOU S41D, JUST1C3 1S MY FORT3  
AG: Alright, okay. I'm sorry.  
AG: Once the truce is in place they'll 8e 8ringing him over to our side, so I'll send him straight home and you can give him what's for and apologise and all of that mushy 8ullshit when he gets there, okay????????  
GC: OK4Y!  
AG: What did you even tell him, anyway?  
AG: Did you reject him after he made some sort of move on you, or...?  
AG: 8ecause if that's the case, the creep definitely deserves whatever kind of punishment he's 8eing dished out!!!!!!!!  
GC: NO, 1T W4SNT L1K3 TH4T 4T 4LL!  
GC: 1TS JUST TH4T... K4RK4TS B33N SHOW1NG S1GNS OF H4V1NG SOM3 SORT OF F33L1NGS FOR M3 FOR 4 F3W SW33PS NOW  
GC: BUT 3SP3C14LLY R3C3NTLY, ON3 M1NUT3 H3D B3 4CT1NG CONC1L14TORY L1K3 H3S W4X1NG P4L3 FOR M3, TH3N TH3 N3XT 1TD F33L 4 LOT MOR3 R3D!  
GC: 4ND 1D K1ND OF ST4RT3D TO TH1NK TH4T M4YB3 1 H4D SOM3 FLUSH3D F33L1NGS FOR H1M? BUT TH3N W3D G3T 1NTO SOM3 4RGUM3NT 4ND H3D S4Y SOM3TH1NG TH4T F3LT... R34LLY R34LLY BL4CK!  
GC: 4ND 1 4LR34DY H4V3 MY MO1R41LL3G14NC3 W1TH YOU, SO OBV1OUSLY 1M NOT GO1NG TO B3 P4RT1C1P4T1NG 1N 4NY P4L3 1NF1D3L1TY TH3R3  
AG: I know you wouldn't do that to me. ::::)  
GC: Y34H!  
GC: 4ND 1D JUST GOTT3N OUT OF 4 R34LLY UNST4BL3 K1SM3S1STUD3 TOO, SO 1T WOULDNT F33L R1GHT TO B3 JUMP1NG STR41GHT 1NTO 4NOTH3R ON3 YOU KNOW?  
AG: I hear you.  
GC: SO TH3N K4RK4T 4ND 1 GOT 1NTO 4NOTH3R 4RGUM3NT 4 F3W W33KS 4GO 4ND 1 W4S JUST... SO F3D UP  
GC: 1 TOLD H1M 1 D1DNT W4NT TO K33P V4C1LL4T1NG 4ND TH4T 1F H3 W4NT3D M3 1N ON3 OF H1S QU4DR4NTS H3 SHOULD JUST D3C1D3 WH1CH ON3 4LR34DY!  
GC: 4ND H3... H3 TOLD M3 H3D B33N TRY1NG TO D3C1D3 BUT 1TS NOT L1K3 H3 C4N R34LLY H3LP HOW H3 F33LS R1GHT?  
GC: 1V3 B33N DO1NG SOM3 R34D1NG 4BOUT V4C1LL4T1ON S1NC3 TH3N 4ND 1T S33MS L1K3 4 R4R3 F3W TROLLS 4R3 PR3D1SPOS3D TO V4C1LL4T3 B3TW33N QU4DR4NTS MOR3 R4P1DLY 4ND FR33LY TH4N OTH3RS  
GC: SO 1 JUST F33L R34LLY 4WFUL FOR G3TT1NG 4NNOY3D 4T H1M FOR SOM3TH1NG H3 C4NT CONTROL  
AG: Yeesh. Sounds exhausting.  
AG: And he got pissed off enough to ditch and go to Derse?  
GC: W3LL... H3 TR13D TO JO1N TH3 KN1GHTS ORD3R F1RST BUT K4NKR1 V3TO3D H1S 4PPL1C4T1ON  
GC: TH3Y GOT 1NTO A F1GHT, 4ND 4FT3R TH4T K4RK4T R4N 4W4Y  
AG: For what reason, I wonder?  
GC: 1 GU3SS ONLY K4RK4T KNOWS FOR SUR3...  
AG: Guess so.  
AG: Look, if you want my opinion, and I'm assuming you do since I'm your moirail, I seriously think you dodged a 8ullet.  
AG: The guy's clearly unsta8le, and if you'd let him pull you into any of his quadrants, you wouldn't 8e a8le to have any sem8lance of a healthy relationship if he's vacillating every five minutes!!!!!!!!  
AG: I mean, yeah, I guess you probably could have let him down with a little more tact, 8ut even so. You're too good to have to deal with his neurotic 8ullshit, and some time away from each other is pro8a8ly good for the 8oth of you!  
GC: W3V3 B33N FR13NDS PR4CT1C4LLY S1NC3 W3 W3R3 W1GGL3RS  
AG: Ex8ctly!!!!!!!!  
AG: Who knows, may8e some time at Skaia will have helped him grow up a little. One can only hope!  
AG: Anyway, as much as I love talking to you a8out your 8oy trou8les, I have to get going in a 8it.  
GC: TH4NKS FOR L1ST3N1NG 1 GU3SS  
GC: 4ND TH4NKS FOR TH3 4DV1C3. YOUR3 PROB4BLY R1GHT TH4T 1TS B3TT3R FOR TH3 BOTH OF US TO JUST G3T OV3R 34CH OTH3R  
GC: W3V3 4LL GOT B1GG3R TH1NGS TO WORRY 4BOUT 4NYW4Y!!  
GC: PL34S3 DONT L3T L4TUL4 KNOW, BUT 1VE B33N G4TH3R1NG SOM3 1NT3L TO M4K3 4 ST4RT ON BR1NG1NG DOWN M4K4R4S DRUG R1NG  
GC: 1TS GON3 ON LONG 3NOUGH  
AG: That's the spirit! Don't worry, your secret's safe with Serket. :::;)  
GC: H3H3H3H3  
GC: GO B3 B4TTL3 COMM4ND3R, VR1SK4  
GC: 1LL K33P YOU UPD4T3D  
AG: <> ::::)  
GC: <>!! >:]  
  
\-- arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] \-- 

 

**ii.**

The regular council chambers were a little too small for everyone—the council, the envoy, and the various attendants rushing back and forth pouring tea and coffee and water—so Rose and Dirk had discussed alternatives, but it was Roxy who had suggested using the Midnight Hall for the truce negotiations. It was the same room they’d all dined in on Monday when the delegation had arrived, and featured an elegant and (more pertinently) completely fucking massive rectangular table, squared enough to seat four at either end. Perfect for the circumstances: the Strider-Lalonde royal siblings sat at one end, and the Prospitian envoy at the other. The Dersian council sat up and down the table’s lengths, in approximately the same places they would have been in, were they in the council chambers.

Ironically, the Midnight Hall was brighter than the council chambers, due to the advent of _windows_ , but it wasn’t so bad that Dirk was forced to wear his shades. He always preferred to keep them off during councils and negotiations, and his eyes weren’t so sensitive as Dave’s, so he got away with it without any trouble.

As Dirk had predicted, it really was more like Prospit and the Strider-Lalondes versus the Dersian council. To their credit, some members of the council were more amicable and open-minded than others, but the ones that weren’t were, predictably, the ones that had more influence.

Despite Kankri being a literal fucking Seer of Blood, many of the blue and purple-blooded trolls physically recoiled at the sight of his RGB(255,0,0) eyes and #FF0000 shirt and moved to sit as far away from him as possible. Some old-fashioned troll thing. Human-like blood was a scourge to troll existence, Dirk figured. Despite these same council members practically worshipping a human King who had blood of the exact same colour.

There was no end to the hypocrisy.

Equius Zahhak, for his part, was (despite being sweaty and creepy and looking like he was constipated half the time) one of the least unbearable bluebloods on the council. Roxy had once mentioned that the guy’s moirail (or “meowrail” as she’d said for some reason) was olive-blooded, so the guy had somewhat of a sympathy for the lower castes that conflicted with his STRONG blueblooded convictions. He was admirably loyal, and due to his prowess with robotics, Dirk felt like maybe if the guy was less of a tool, they could be good friends. Sometimes it just seemed like that loyalty was naïvely misplaced.

Near the end of discussions on Thursday, when Roxy looked like she was itching for a hard, cold drink, Dave looked half-asleep, and even Rose looked like she was nearing the end of her tether, Equius stood up and haltingly delivered a piece he’d either spent too long or not long enough trying to prepare.

“There is still a pervading issue myself and many of my fellow council members are concerned about,” he began in his usual low murmur. “I’m sure that many of you can already guess what it is that I am trying to address, for it is quite the issue that has surely been neighing at all of us for some time now…”

“Equius,” Dirk interrupted, trying to sound patient—which was tricky, since he wasn’t exactly patient dude. “Please, just. What is it?”

Equius inclined his head. “The King, your Highness,” he said. “It doesn’t feel… right, exactly, to be outlining such changes to the kingdom and to the law whilst he is not here.”

The sigh that came whistling out of Dirk’s mouth escaped him before he even noticed. He’d known this issue would come up at some point. In fact, he was surprised they’d made it three days already. “Thank you, Equius,” he said resignedly, and the tall troll nodded again and sat down. Now it was Dirk’s turn to stand, leaning forward to rest his palms on the table, head lowered, glaring through his eyelashes at the intermingled clusterfuck of trolls and humans sitting around the repurposed dining table. In his periphery, he could see Jake’s eyes on him. _Don’t look_ , he reminded himself.

“Look,” he began, keeping his eyes trained to the members of the council. “I know a lot of you feel uncomfortable with this, given the King’s—given my father’s absence.” He sensed more than felt Roxy tense next to him. He really needed to find the time to sit down and properly _talk_ with her about that whole ordeal sometime. “I’ll be the first to admit that I am not my father. We do not want the same things, and whatever he was working towards before his disappearance, it is very different from what I am striving to achieve.” He gestured vaguely towards the Prospitians at the other end of the table. “My father, for example, would never even entertain the _notion_ of a truce with Prospit. I am not my father. Nor am I the King, but given that your beloved King has gone and dropped off the very face of the earth, I am the one who is supposed to be acting in his place. As we have covered many times.

“While we may not have the same goals, do you really think that if my father—the _King_ , that man who wasn’t particularly known for showing mercy to even his own children,” he gestured to Dave on his left and Rose on his right, “would have left me of all people to take up the mantle if he really thought I’d fuck up his kingdom?”

It was a tenuous argument, he knew, but it held some weight: Dirk knew, the council knew, the fucking _common people_ of Derse knew that if the King had really taken serious issue with Dirk succeeding him, there would be no Dirk Strider. He’d been thinking about it for a while, and was more disturbed by how _un_ disturbed the knowledge made him feel.

It seemed to have an effect. The uncertain countenances that came across many of the council’s most stubborn and asshole-y members was gratifying, if nothing else.

An elegant cough came from the Prospitian end of the table, and Dirk’s head snapped up to see Kanaya rising out of her chair. “I have been spending my time outside of the negotiations looking through your temple’s archives,” she prefaced, “and I found a rather interesting precedent.”

Dirk glanced around at Rose, who was sitting upright and attentive yet again. She caught his eye and nodded.

“Tell us,” Dirk said to Kanaya, gesturing towards her as he reseated himself.

Kanaya bowed her head, straightened her posture, and began to explain. “Some eighty years ago, your great-grandfather—the first to take the name of Strider—became King at the age of twenty human years, despite his father still being alive.”

Dirk narrowed his eyes with interest. He knew about his great-grandfather being the first to call himself Strider, but he didn’t know this second part. He listened intently as Kanaya continued—and judging by the relative silence in the room, everyone else was listening just as closely.

“His father was gravely ill. Strider the First was Prince Regent for a time until it was decided by the council—under advice from many of Derse’s finest physicians—that the King would not recover. Around this same time, civil war was brewing to the south, and Derse was desperate for a single figurehead to lead them during the imminent hard times. So, the council voted that Strider the First be raised to the status of King.”

Dirk’s heart sank.

“However,” Kanaya continued, “Several months later, the previous King made a miraculous recovery. In an unexpected turn of events, he was suddenly… fit as a fiddle, as a human might say.” She punctuated the phrase with a sardonic smile. “Predictably, he was not very pleased at having been deposed during his illness. So the kingdom was at an internal impasse, with two Kings and no obvious way to solve the problem—the previously ill King did not want to stand down, and nor did Strider the First. So he challenged his father in a duel to the death. The former King accepted.” She paused, and the room itself seemed to hold its breath. “And so they fought. The duel lasted many hours, but in the end, Strider the First, being younger and fitter, defeated his father and came out victorious. He became the undisputed King.” Kanaya smiled pleasantly. “And that, as they say, is that.”

“The story suggests,” Rose piped up, standing just as Kanaya sat, “that the King does not necessarily have to be dead for it to be decided that a new King should reign. If it is for the benefit of the Kingdom, a Prince Regent  can become King before his time. In our case, if we were to make Dirk Strider our King, if the current King were to ever return to Derse the two could battle for supremacy over the title.”

Wow, okay, so it felt kind of weird for someone who had only heard hearsay about Dirk’s fighting abilities to be suggesting a scenario in which he would potentially have to duel the King _to the death_. Clearly she hadn’t heard much about _his_ fighting abilities, but Dirk had no doubt that the guy would be able to run him into fucking dust without even working up a sweat. He looked over at Rose again. She had this confident smirk on her face, which he couldn’t help but find odd. Just two days ago she’d been telling Dirk that he would be Prince Regent for a while longer. What was her definition of “a while longer” if she was trying to set up a scenario where he would become King sooner—and possibly reach the end of his life sooner—than he would even be able to come to terms with. Unless Rose already knew this bid wouldn’t be successful, in which case… what was all this _really_ about?

The council seemed intrigued, however, and invoking any sort of vaguely positive response out of them was a success, as far as Dirk was concerned. Mostly because it was just so fucking difficult.

“So what are you suggesting, Rose?” Dirk asked quietly. An incipient static hissed in his head, so quiet as to be hardly noticeable.

“I am suggesting,” she said, “That if in a week’s time we are unable to settle any terms due to the council’s reluctance to act in a way that might go against the wishes of our absent King, that we put it to a vote whether or not the situation is dire enough to prematurely crown the Prince Regent as King.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Roxy.

“Is it amiable to the council?” asked Kanaya.

The council murmured amongst themselves, but the tone didn’t seem to be one of dissent, so… that was something.

“If I may,” Kankri began, standing. “I rather think the Prospitian delegation should also be involved in this vote, should it come to it. After all, this is a decision which affects us and our kingdom as much as it affects you and yours. It is only fair, therefore, if we be given that privilege. It does after all, I believe, fall under the realm of the courtesies granted to us under the Diplomatic Immunity Agreement, that any and all political parties present be involved in the proceedings of major decisions such as this one.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Many of the councillors’ expressions suddenly turned sour at the thought of including Prospitians in such an indisputably Dersian matter.

“Erm, Kankri, old fruit,” Jake piped up, sensing the one-eighty the atmosphere in the room had taken, “as a Seer of Blood, would it not be possible for you to… somehow, say… _See_ where the King might be?”

Kankri shook his head. “To my credit, I did try.” Yeah. It had been a really fucking weird and vaguely occult experience for Dirk, pricking his finger so that the troll could press his hand against the bead of blood, close his eyes and _hum._ “However,” the troll’s bushy eyebrows furrowed, “the only thing I was able to conclude from using my Sight was that your King is either dead, not within this plane of existence, or somehow shielded.”

“The King is a very powerful man,” Equius intoned. “It was never decided what class or aspect he corresponded to.”

“I’ve never seen the guy lose a fight,” Cronus added. “There’s never been anyone who could beat him. He’s sure got some funky tricks up his sleeves, that’s for sure.”

Dirk scoffed. “Well, then,” he said scathingly. “It’s a non-issue if I do become King, then, isn’t it? If he’s just that powerful, then if he comes back I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. It took Dirk a second to realise that part of it was the growing buzz of static in his head, padding his mind with anaesthetising cotton; a mental barrier between him and… everything. His breaths came heavily, as much as he willed them to even out. Every eye was on him, with about a million and one different fucking reactions on every face in the room. He could _feel_ Jake’s eyes on him though, emerald green and beseeching, piercing through the static. Finally, he met them across the table, and was almost relieved by the way his stomach flipped over.

“Dude,” Dave said softly from beside him.

He dropped his eyes. “It’s late,” he muttered. “Meeting dismissed.” Without another word, he pushed his chair out and was, for once, the first out of the room.

He was two flights of stairs up, shades firmly back on his face, static faded, when he heard hurried footsteps on the stairs below him. He paused.

“Dirk!” said Jake when he caught up, bending to catch his breath. “My god you walk fast!”

“What can I say,” Dirk said tonelessly. “I’m a Strider, after all.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know you are.”

They kept on up the flights upon flights of stairs, this time keeping level with each other. “So,” Dirk began conversationally. “Any particular reason you decided to follow me?”

“Well,” Jake shrugged, “I suppose I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You seemed awfully put-off back there, and I figured since I know a thing or two about feeling reluctant to be King… I, er, might be able to help.”

Dirk snorted. “No offense, but we’re in pretty fucking different situations.”

“I know.” Jake frowned. “There’s really not much I can do about that, though. Good blooming fuck, Dirk, how far up are we going?”

“All the way up, bro,” Dirk told him. “Well, almost. My quarters are on the second-to-top floor.”

“It must be downright knackering climbing up there every day! Why on earth…?”

“Dunno,” Dirk shrugged, “I guess I like it up high. Always have.” Dave did, too: he’d remembered that about the four-year-old Dave, which was why Dirk had given him the quarters near his own. He’d been pleased to learn that that much hadn’t changed in twelve years. Neither Roxy or Rose were as keen on the extreme height, so they were a few floors further down.

Jake nodded. “I can understand that. Only the very best of views can be admired from on high, after all.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Dirk agreed. “I’m pretty fucking fond of the view from my quarters.”

“Oh, really? Well, we’ll just see how it compares to the view from my own quarters in Prospit’s palace, then, won’t we?”

Dirk glanced at him, offering a smirk. “You’re on, English.”

 

“Well… I, er. I’d say you’ve got me thoroughly beat, Strider.”

“Told ya.”

“Honestly, I’d thought you were just bragging, but this is… wow.”

Dirk chuckled, leaning forwards to rest his folded arms against the balustrade of his own private balcony, overlooking the sheer cliff face of the tapered peninsula that shot away from the palace, gently curving inwards to encircle the bay. The sea glistened silvery-purple in the dusk, serene under the coral-tinted cirrocumulus clouds. A few sailboats could still be seen making their steady way back to port before darkness fell: directly below the balcony were the docks, the bustle of end-of-the-day maritime movement looking from here like the business of ants. It was such a cliché comparison, and yet Dirk couldn’t think of any metaphor more apt. The noise from below didn’t reach as high at this, and so the only sound was the rustle of the breeze, the whisper of the sea. It was really easy to get seriously fuckin’ poetic up here.

“Unfortunately, it’s east-facing,” he commented.

“Hm?”

“The sunset,” Dirk clarified, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s over that way.”

“Oh. Right. You must get nice sunrises, though, yeah?” Jake asked, leaning on the banister next to Dirk. Their shoulders just barely bristled against each other, and Dirk had the faintest sensation like a gentle squeezing in his heart. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

“The nicest,” Dirk agreed. “You wouldn’t believe how many colours the sea can reflect when the light is limited. Like it’s trying to compensate.”

A smirk crept up onto Jake’s face. “You aren’t about to start rapping about it are you, Dirk?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“Yeah… I think we might leave that for another time.” He bumped his shoulder against Dirk’s. “So. Tell me about your royal reluctance.”

“What?” Jake could take him by surprise every now and then, but at least over Pesterchum Dirk had been able to hide it. In person, the only things he could hide behind were his shades.

“You can’t fool me, Dirk. There’s a reason you reacted the way you did back there. You know all about _my_ reservations as to my soon-to-be-elevated royal status, but I’d always believed you _wanted_ to be King, to some extent.”

But Dirk _didn’t_ know all about Jake’s reservations. He only knew he had them, not why. Although, with any other person Dirk would pretty easily be able to figure it out. With Jake… well, let’s just say that a specific calibre of subjectivity got in the way.

“I _do_ want to be King,” Dirk said, staring out at the horizon. “Or, I did. Or maybe just… not yet. Not like this, at least. For most of my life I’ve seen becoming King as being synonymous with my father being dead. Dual reasons for celebration, as fucking terrible as that might sound.”

“He really isn’t a good person, is he?”

“Not in any sense of the term, no. Fuck, sometimes I feel like I should almost be _thanking_ the Witch who took Dave and Rose away,” the Witch who was in the basement as he spoke. He still needed to decide what to do with her. “If the King himself had gotten his hands on them, they wouldn’t be here. They’d be festering away in the crypts right now, twelve-year-old corpses of four-year-old children. _Fuck_ , our mother’s corpse _is_ festering away down there, and there is no fucking doubt in my mind that _he_ was somehow responsible.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and turned around, leaning his lower back and the heels of his palms against the bannister. He stared down at his highly polished shoes. He always dressed well for council meetings, and generally insisted that Roxy—and now Rose and Dave—did, too. One of his favourite childhood tutors had taught him the importance of keeping up appearances. Of the different impressions that something as simple as a change of clothing could make on a single person, a group of people, an audience. Dressing neatly and professionally was supposed to tell the council that Dirk meant business, that he was serious about and cared about the points he was trying to argue.

Not like it seemed to make much of a difference. What was the point in it? He could go to council in skinny jeans and an old t-shirt and he doubted it would change how they saw him. It might prove a few things to them, though, and not in a positive way.

“So, yeah. I hate my father and I genuinely wish he was dead. I guess the main reason I always looked forward to becoming King was because it would mean he was six feet under, which would automatically improve the kingdom a great fucking deal. Part of me thinks that maybe he knew I thought that, so he disappeared just to show me that this kingdom and the people in charge of it are as shitty as always even when he isn’t here. But then, knowing him, he never gave enough of a shit about me to bother going to such great lengths just to make my life hell. That part always came fuckin’ naturally!” His hands were gripping the banister so tightly his elbows shook. He slid down to sit on the smooth stone, leaning against the balustrade and tilting his head back to rest between two pickets.

“Not only that, but being Prince Regent has given me a taste of how stressful it is being in charge of the whole kingdom.” He gazed up at Jake, who peered down at him with heart-aching sympathy written all over his face. “Me being me, I stress over it even more than I need to, given how much of a fucking perfectionist control freak I am.” He sighed and bowed his head forwards, staring at his shoes again. “So. There’s my royal fuckin’ reluctance, I guess. Just a whole lot of bullshit.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jake move to sit next to him. “I don’t think its bullshit,” he said quietly, then let out a tiny, melancholic chuckle. “If that’s bullshit, then _my_ reasons for being reluctant must be absolute twaddle.”

Dirk looked at him. Jake looked back, with a tiny wistful smile on his lips.

“It’s not twaddle,” Dirk said quietly. “You don’t want to be King. That’s understandable. Downright fucking wise, actually.”

“It’s, erm, it’s a little more than that,” Jake said. Now it was _his_ turn to stare at his feet, wringing his hands between his knees.

Dirk watched him closely. “I don’t think it’s so unusual to be reluctant about marriage, either. Not at our age. And especially not when your wife-to-be is your cousin.”

Jake looked up at him with a strained smile. “I suppose not. Do you… erm… there’s this old wives’ tale,” he began haltingly, “called the Curse of the Prospit Kings.” Dirk raised an eyebrow. Jake continued, “Prospit has been a matriarchy for the past several centuries, as you know, just as Derse has been a patriarchy for almost as long. Well… there’s not a Prospitian King in recorded history who hasn’t met some grisly, premature, and oftentimes downright undignified end. So it’s been a common belief for a long time now that there’s some sort of curse, preventing Kings in Prospit from living out long and happy lives.” He gestured vaguely. “Just look at Jane’s father! Dead of Cancer at thirty-two, after having one _horridly_ illicit affair with my own mother, of all people. The King before him broke his neck falling down the stairs. The King before _him_ cracked his skull in a bar fight and died from cerebral haemorrhaging. _His_ predecessor had a heart attack on the bog, for pity’s fucking sake!”

Dirk blinked, somewhat taken aback. “That, um… that does seem like there’s a pattern.”

Jake nodded despondently. “My own father wasn’t even the King and he froze to death in a gutter. Perhaps it’s less a curse of Kings and more a curse on the males of our line. Perhaps John and I are _both_ doomed to early deaths.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, as if suspended over their heads. Doom and gloom from all directions, despite the postcard-perfect view at their backs. It was strangely fitting to be facing away from something so beautiful whilst they aired out all their grievances and bemoaned their stations. As if they were protecting it, shielding its sparkling eyes from the ugly, gritty bullshit of the humanoid condition.

“Well,” Dirk said slowly. “At least there’s no chance your father will straight-up murder you to get his crown back.”

Jake snorted and swatted Dirk’s leg with the back of his hand. “Unless zombies are real, I should hope not!” He smiled. Dirk smiled back. After a moment, Jake reached up and gently pulled Dirk’s shades off his face. Dirk let him.

They locked eyes. Jake broke eye contact first, looking down at the shades in his hands as if wondering what he’d just done. “It’s, er…” he faltered, nudging his own glasses up his nose as he met Dirk’s eyes again, grinning sheepishly. “It’s getting quite dark out here.”

“Yeah,” Dirk breathed. “It is.” They were so close, pressed together shoulder to hip. Dirk could smell Jake’s aftershave—what was that, musk and sandalwood? He couldn’t help but quietly marvel at the near-flawlessness of Jake’s coffee-cream skin; so unlike his own parchment-pale and lightly freckled complexion. Facing each other with such little distance between them, Dirk could feel Jake’s breath on his face, the gentlest of warm wafts against the chilled sea breeze at their backs.

A pleasant buzzing had set into his head and his heart—so unlike the apathetic static from earlier. That had felt like frigid river rapids. This was more like a sun-warmed ocean. He was leaning in before he even realised what he was doing.

His lips touched Jake’s, and for the briefest second, everything seemed to freeze. It immediately occurred to him to pull away as quickly as possible (and maybe throw himself over the railing), but then Jake actually fucking _kissed him back_. Everything beyond the two of them dropped away in an instant and that warm, satisfying buzz grew stronger, filling his head and pooling in his chest.

It only lasted a few seconds, chaste and closed-mouthed and fucking wonderful, but as they pulled away from each other, the world came rushing back in to fill the space between them. Dirk felt his eyes widening, a sentiment mirrored by Jake. The warm buzz very suddenly transmuted into numb shock.

“I, uh,” Dirk stammered. “That was—I didn’t—I shouldn’t have—”

“No!” Jake exclaimed. “I mean, it’s fine, it’s… er, fine. I’m… fine.” He blinked rapidly and glanced down at the shades still clutched in his hands. He held them out to Dirk, the faintest hint of a tremor in his fingers. “I should… I should go get ready. For dinner. Which is soon.” Dirk took the shades and nodded mutely, watching as Jake clambered to his feet and clumsily made his way over to the balcony door. “I’ll… see you at dinner,” he mumbled.

Then he was gone.

Dirk just sat there, frozen, holding his shades in one hand. Almost against his own will, he licked his lips. He tasted Earl Grey. Jake’s tea of choice. With a long-suffering groan, his forehead dropped onto his knees.

“Great fucking job, Strider,” he muttered into his thighs. _With that stellar display of self-control you’ll make a totally fucking fantastic King._ He sighed and lifted his head, rubbing his face with his hands before shoving his shades back over his eyes. _Well_ , he thought. _At least I got it out of my system._

Dirk Strider did not like lying to others. However, that proclivity never once stopped him from lying to himself.

AG: It’s not your fault the guy’s a neurotic asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH WHAT AM I DOING I TOLD YOU I COULDN'T WRITE ROMANCE FUUUUUUCK
> 
> So yeah that's the first kiss scene I've ever written. I was probably more nervous and giddy writing that than I was after my own first kiss, tbh. So erm... _feedback greatly appreciated_???? That last scene has actually been in my head since early on, but I expected myself to chicken out. Almost can't believe I didn't.
> 
> I probably sound like a fucking thirteen year old right now. Romance just isn't really a thing I've ever been interested in writing. Kinda still isn't; not on its own.


	16. Interlude: Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _TG: ive had like 1 drink_   
>  _TG: after that whole thing i rllllly needed it_   
>  _TG: seems like u might too huh dirk?_   
>  _TG: k ur still ignoring me thats fine_   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly pesterlogs. I guess you could also consider it somewhat of an interlude [[EDIT Apr.'17: definitely an interlude; chapter title changed to reflect such]], because there isn't really any real plot substance, just character stuff. But! Next chapter dives back into the plot in a big way.

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
TG: heads up! prolly wont be at dinner   
TG: im goin out  
TG: to see you know whooooo ;3  
TG: ...who you dont like  
TG: but thats ok  
TG: its only natural 4 my suuuuper overprotective big bro to be wary of the object of his lil sisters affections ;)  
TG: ...espesh when said object is an employee of said big bro  
TG: dw dirky u will always be my #1 dude  
TG: u n dave   
TG: also id like to point out  
TG: that i am TEHCIALLY an adult and can do w/e the fuck i like so u cnt stop me :3  
TG: *technically gdi y r my typos always ruinin the stone cold impact of my statrements  
TG: ok see how tf did that r get in there  
TG: starements  
TG: satrements  
TG: satre ments 2 say that evrythin is pointless :)  
TG: cept if u make it not pointless or somethin  
TG: idk i dont rememebr  
TG: rememebr hahaha  
TG: re meme brrrrr  
TG: dem ice cold memes  
TG: such typo  
TG: much lolz  
TG: o SHIT waddup throwback amirite  
TG: why am i wasting this material on u  
TG: dave would probably appreciate it much better  
TG: or at least actualy fuckin reply????  
TG: ummmmmmm   
TG: diiiiiiiiirk??  
TG: dddddddddddddirk?  
TG: dirrrrrrrrrrk???  
TG: dirkkkkkkkkkkkkk?????  
TG: fukn rude not 2 reply 2 me when im opening my heart here  
TG: (an also churnin out some sicknasty memeterial)  
TG: (tht 1 was on purpose)  
TG: cmon now dirk  
TG: ...  
TG: :(  
TG: okayyy i get it ur prolly still hardocre angsting over wut happend w/ the council n stuff  
TG: *hardcore  
TG: hard ochre lmao perfect thats ur colour dirk  
TG: HOW ABOUT  
TG: when i get back we can have a motion pic nite??  
TG: u an me an rose an dave  
TG: we can all snuggle up like bugs in a rug   
TG: an watch like  
TG: somethin uniornically terrible  
TG: or like  
TG: a rly rly old scifi  
TG: with tinfoil an all that prehistroci film maggyk  
TG: *prehistoric  
TG: ive had like 1 drink  
TG: after that whole thing i rllllly needed it  
TG: seems like u might too huh dirk?  
TG: k ur still ignoring me thats fine  
TG: i know ur online  
TG: u aint evn idle  
TG: guess i shuld probly just go then :/  
TT: I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to give up.  
TG: HE SPEAKS  
TG: THE PRINCE HAS ARISEN  
TT: Shut up.  
TG: u gud then?  
TG: dont need me to cancel my date jus to come giv u a hug do u???  
TG: cuz i will do it  
TG: u no i will  
TT: What if I say yes just to spite you?  
TG: :O  
TT: It’s fine, you can go.  
TT: I don’t think I’ll be going to dinner, either.  
TT: Not after...  
TT: That.  
TG: aw cmon it wasnt that bad  
TG: lil bit of an outburst now an then is nothin unusual  
TT: There’s more to it.  
TT: I’ll tell you tomorrow.  
TG: :OOOOO  
TG: does this maaaayyybeeee  
TG: hav somethin to do with how jake went running after you after th meeting? :3:3:3  
TT: I’ll tell you tomorrow.  
TG: ok ok mr broken record  
TG: what was the verdict on the mopic nite tho??  
TT: It’s a pass for me. Maybe some other night. You should still see if Rose and Dave are interested, though.  
TG: :(:(:(  
TG: k  
  
  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--  
  
TG: rosieee  
TG: u wanna have a motion pic nite 2nite?   
TG: w/ dave hopefully  
TG: dirks bein a sad sack n declined my generous invitation  
TT: Unfortunately, I am also going to have to decline. Kanaya and I are trying to get through as many of these scrolls as we can before tomorrow’s negotiations.  
TT: It’s quite the undertaking, we barely scratched the surface of potentially beneficial historical precedents. You’re free to join us, if you’d like.  
TG: lmao cuz u just KNOW thats TOTES the life im about  
TG: nah i got a date 2nite  
TT: Oh, really?  
TT: With your man of the night, whom Dirk is so opposed to you seeing?  
TG: im like 99.99999% sure that dirk just hates him on principle  
TT: Most likely.  
TG: wbu tho uve been spending like  
TG: SO much time with that kanaya chick  
TT: She is a fascinating individual.  
TG: o rly?  
TT: Not to mention a Sylph of Space. Have I told you before how effusively intriguing the aspect of Space is?  
TT: I thought you’d be pleased that I’ve found someone other than you or Dave or Dirk who is willing to engage me in discourse about the aspects.  
TG: yeeeeesh some1s getting defensive  
  
  
TG: i think the gay gene might be v potent in our family  
TT: ...  
TT: Context, please?  
TG: plz tell me im not the only one to notice how rosie looks at that kanaya lady  
TG: i mean dont get me wrong that is one v attractive classy troll lady  
TG: id be ALL ABOUT THAT if i were gay  
TG: and if i werent already spoken for  
TT: I’d noticed them spending time together, sure. That doesn’t automatically mean Rose has a thing for her.  
TG: hmmmmmm ok good point  
TG: but   
TG: im pretty sure im right about this  
TG: cmon now dirk  
TG: u gotta admit  
TG: ur gaydar is godawful  
TG: arent gays supposed to recognise other gays on sight?  
TG: is that not how that works??  
TT: No.  
TT: And I wish you wouldn’t use such anachronistically layman-like terms.  
TG: omg u n rose both stretch the lexicon big time when u get offended  
TG: yeah w/e mr dont label me even tho its WHAT YOU ARE  
TT: Technically, sure.  
TT: I really find it quite astounding how we could live with trolls for over five centuries and still not be so influenced by their romantic and sexual ideals in the realm of categorisation. They don’t seem to care who’s fucking who, except for gossip’s sake of course. Why do we?  
TT: Labels only exist for the sake of the lowest common denominator’s understanding. What I decide to identify as is my own business, including and especially if I decide not to subscribe to any specific classification at all. Which I don’t.  
TG: yes ok dirk so me calling u gay  
TG: is solely 4 purposes of my own understanding  
TT: Okay, fine. You’ve got me there. You are the lowest common demoninator, Rox. It’s you.  
TG: (and also b/c its wat u are)  
TG: (im gon go ahead an ignore the second part of that comment u lil shit)  
TG: rose said no to the mopic night btw :(  
TG: looks like its just gunna be me n dave  
TG: if he says yes  
TG: aw man i hope dave isnt gay too  
TG: then id be the straight singularity of the family  
TG: how UNLIKELY would that even BE  
TG: I THOUGHT IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE OTHER WAY AROUND  
TT: You know, Rox... there are some in the palace who would accuse those words you just typed of being problematic.  
TT: Personally I don’t give a flying fuck because I have more important fucking things to be thinking about.  
TT: But you know who I’m referring to, right?  
TG: omg that red sweater troll dude  
TG: s u c h a bag of wind outside of meetings its soooo funny  
TG: u know im only bein facetions tho rite dirk  
TG: *facetious  
TT: Yes.  
TG: k good  
  
  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--  
  
TG: lmao dont u luv how pesterchum clarifies our handle abbreviations  
TG: as if they will totes clear up any confusion as to whos sayin wat  
TG: does anyone actually look at the abbreviations tho  
TG: i mean in group chats usually i just see the colour and im like  
TG: yep ok thats that person talking   
TG: but man what if there were two people with the same colour  
TG: ikr what would u dooo???  
TG: theyd have to fight over it  
TG: like kids fighting over board game tokens  
TG: fuck you sally im older i wanna be the blue peg  
TG: oh for fucks sake simon weve been over this a million fucking times  
TG: youre colourblind it literally doesnt make any fucking difference you fucking fuck of an older fucking sibling  
TG: god DAMN simon youre an asshole  
TG: well sally  
TG: its all very well and good me being colourblind  
TG: but you dont have any fucking ARMS you armless bimbo  
TG: how do you expect to play, by using your fucking feet?  
TG: fuck you simon im telling mom  
TG: well you just fucking do that see if i care  
TG: oh wait  
TG: WE DONT HAVE A MOM SALLY  
TG: oh shittttt  
TG: plot twists everywhere!!!!  
TG: fuck yeah  
TG: but u raise a v good point  
TG: what do colourblind people do when theyre talkig to some1 w/ the same abbreciation?  
TG: *abbreviation  
TG: idk  
TG: cry  
TG: lmao thats so sad  
TG: n e way  
TG: man how do i always get so wildly off topic when i talk to u dave  
TG: girls always get distracted when they talk to me  
TG: !!!  
TG: fuck  
TG: ok wow its a good thing rose isnt here to make fun of me for that one  
TG: actually wait that reminds me  
TG: ur straight rite???  
TG: yes  
TG: ok good  
TG: why  
TG: well obviously dirk is like the gayest dude in the kingdom  
TG: obviously  
TG: and i have my suspicions about our lil rosie  
TG: huh   
TG: really  
TG: shes been hangin out with that vampire troll a lot  
TG: havnt u notice????  
TG: well yeah sure of course I have  
TG: ive gotten the “sorry dave i dont want to talk to you id much rather read books with my prospitian mosquito troll” speech fuckin twice already  
TG: its been like three days how well can you even get to know a person in that time  
TG: tru :/  
TG: I mean idgaf ive been kinda preoccupied anyway  
TG: w/ wat?  
TG: oh you know  
TG: the crushing pointlessness of existence  
TG: the inevitability of the fact that we will all die one day and nothing we do or say will change that fact  
TG: the idea that we are but specks of dust in a vast and endless universe  
TG: totally insignificant to the threads of existence as they weave their esoteric tapestry, keeping us in the dark with every stitch  
TG: pawns to fate  
TG: helplessly subject to the volatile whims of nature  
TG: destined to flounder aimlessly as we desperately search inside of ourselves to explain our outside circumstances  
TG: ashes to ashes  
TG: dust to dust  
TG: it all just seems so inconsequential in the big scheme of things you know  
TG: ok ok fuck i get it u dont wanna tell me!  
TG: that was beautiful tho A+ for the existentialism   
TG: u should rap about it  
TG: thx  
TG: i will  
TG: ANYWAY  
TG: holy fuck dave these tangents r all ur fauly  
TG: *fault  
TG: yeah probably  
TG: do u wanna watch a motion picture with me tonite? :3  
TG: wen i get back from my date  
TG: youre going on a date?  
TG: ye  
TG: ok cool  
TG: uh  
TG: yeah sure i guess  
TG: as long as you come to me because im lazy as shit and i dont wanna move  
TG: you have to move 2 go 2 dinner soon tho  
TG: oh yeah  
TG: meh im thinking of giving it a miss  
TG: cant be fucked tbh  
TG: geeez at this rate rose will be the only royal rep at dinner 2nite  
TG: i think  
  
  
TG: hey r u goin to dinner tonite?  
TT: Unfortunately I have to skip. Kanaya and I both. I’ll have something brought to us, of course.  
TT: Like I said: there’s a lot of reading to be done.  
TG: uhuh right  
  
  
TG: nvm none of us are goin 2 dinner 2nite  
TG: why wheres dirk at  
TG: probs havin a pacing session in his quarters  
TG: ill get back to u on that drama  
TG: or even better u could jus ask him yourself  
TG: maybe not 2nite tho idk he rly does seem kinda upset :(  
TG: damn is it just because of what happened at the meeting?  
TG: hmmmmm  
TG: its a y/n question roxy   
TG: HMMMMMMM  
TG: yeah yeah ok fine  
TG: secrets and feelings and stuff i get it  
TG: all four of us are severely and irreparably fucked up you know that  
TG: tell me abt it :/  
TG: n e way i gotta go now  
TG: oh yeah  
TG: your prince is waiting huh  
TG: pfft hes no prince  
TG: i am legit a princess tho  
TG: yep  
TG: c u later then  
TG: ill bring popcorn!!!!  
TG: fuck yeah  
TG: :3  
  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--  
  
  
TT: Shouldn’t you be leaving for your date soon?  
TG: yeeeees  
TG: im goin rn  
TT: Take care, have fun, and all that sisterly nonsense.  
TG: how dare u call it nonsense i luv that stuff  
TT: Remember to use protection?  
TG: rose no  
TG: ur doin it wrong  
TT: Well, then... tell me all about it tomorrow morning over croissants and coffee?  
TG: yessssss :3  
TT: Knew I’d get the right one eventually.  
TG: hehehehe  
TG: its a date then  
TG: a sister breakfast date  
TG: best kinda date :3  
TT: I eagerly await it.  
TT: Unironically and unsarcastically.  
TG: me 2!  
  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--  
  
  
TG: k im gonna go now  
TG: dw ill be home b4 midnight and all that stuff  
TG: so that i dont turn into a pumpkin or w/e  
TT: I’m not entirely sure that’s how that fairy tale went.  
TG: dont rly care tbh  
TT: Neither.  
TG: well then its a moot point aint it   
TG: anyway  
TG: try to cheer up k?  
TG: n like  
TG: make sure u get some food  
TT: I know how to take care of myself, Rox.   
TT: I just need some time to think.  
TG: u do a lot of thinkin already  
TT: And to collect myself.   
TG: hmm ok  
TG: i have a breakfast date w/ rose  
TG: but after that u can bet ill be hunting u down and squeezing all the juicy deets out of u ok  
TG: i need those deets dirk  
TT: I know you do.  
TT: It’s the curse of the interminably nosey, didn’t you know?  
TG: um rude  
TG: im leavin now  
TT: Alright. Have fun. Remember to use protection.  
TG: omfg r u talking to rose rn??  
TT: No?  
TG: fuck u both anyway  
TG: ITS NOT THAT KINDA DATE  
  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

“Okay, okay, truth or dare?”

“I just went, you dickhole!”

“Did you? Oh, fuck. Okay, truth, then.”

“Hmm, okay, weeeell...” Roxy giggled drunkenly, the bottle of gin and soda nearly slipping out of her hand and onto the rocks below them. “Oh, fuck! Whoops!” She giggled again.

“Oh my god, you are the clumsiest person I’ve ever met,” said Arch. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge that Roxy had a little bit of a thing with the royal family’s chauffeur, which was probably for the best. Little did Roxy care: Arch was tall and broad-shouldered and red-haired and fucking _twenty-two_ years old. He was considerably younger and better looking than their previous driver, who’d had a nervous breakdown a few months ago and was on permanent leave. Roxy was pretty certain that by now Dirk regretted hiring someone so fucking _hot_ , but even though he was _loath_ to admit it, Dirk had almost as much of a weak spot for sexy redheads as Roxy did.

“Fuck you, I’m fucking drunk!” said Roxy, grabbing Arch’s arm as she stumbled over another rock. They were at the rocky foot of the cliffs overlooking the sea, the lights of the palace shining above them, the city behind them. Combined with the glow of the gibbous moon above, there was just enough light for them to see where they were going. However, with the advent of alcohol, it was probably inadvisable for them to be so far from the main part of the beach.

“I know you are!” Arch laughed. “Give me that, before you drop it. That shit’s expensive.” He grabbed the bottle of gin from Roxy’s hand, taking a swig before pulling a face. “Eugh, I don’t get why you like this stuff. It’s too sweet.”

“You just answered your own question, dumbass. It’s sweet!” She wrapped herself around his arm and leant into him, balancing tentatively on top of one particularly pointy rock.

He was unswayed by her weight. He turned the bottle in his hand, squinting at the label. “What does that say… thirty-seven percent alcohol?”

“Thirty-seven point two,” Roxy confirmed. “But that’s just the gin. Half of it’s soda, so it’d be like… eighteen… point… something.”

“Not entirely sure that’s how that works.” He took another swig. “Man,” he chuckled. “It’s a good thing your brother hardly ever leaves the castle. That’d be one awkward car ride.”

“It’s not a good thing,” Roxy mumbled into his sleeve. “I worry about him.”

Arch extricated his arm from her grasp and wrapped it around her, rubbing her shoulder. “I know you do.”

She put out a hand for the bottle. He obliged, placing it in her grasp and not letting go until he was sure she had it firmly in her grip.

“How are you, like, still practically sober?” she marvelled, taking a gulp and relishing the dry burning sensation as the liquor made its way down her oesophagus.

“Well, I haven’t had nearly as much as you since I’m supposed to be driving,” he said. “Other than that… experience. Tolerance. The fact that I’m a dude.”

“What!”

“Dudes have higher tolerance than chicks, everyone knows that.”

“Yeah, right!”

“It’s true!”

“Well, _I’m_ a chick and I have a _super_ high tolerance. The only reason I’m so buzzed right now is because I had a few martinis before I left the palace,” she told him.

“Yeah, well. Most chicks aren’t borderline alcoholics.”

She pulled away from him, jumping down off the rocks and skipping away a few steps. With one hand, she flipped him off, while with the other, she brought the bottle to her lips again.

He sighed and followed her. She stuck out her tongue and carefully stepped backwards until her back was against the cliff wall. When he reached her, he ran his fingers down a lock of her hair (she’d left her circlet in the car), and leaned down to kiss her. She responded eagerly, moulding her body to fit his and standing on her toes to get better access. She reached her hands up to loop around his neck, forgetting about the half-empty glass bottle in one hand.

Their feet were showered in liquor and broken glass.

“Fuck!” exclaimed Roxy.

Arch sighed again.

“That was your fault!” She accused.

He just looked at her.

“What?” she demanded.

“You know,” he began, making no move to step away from the shattered glass littering the rocky ground at their feet. “Usually, when people get drunk, they open up about all their personal problems. Alcohol’s supposed to remove inhibitions, and all that.”

She blinked at him. “So?”

“So, that’s not the case with you. You use alcohol as a way to bury everything that’s bothering you even deeper.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, I just feel like our entire relationship is based on getting drunk and making out on the beach after dark.”

Roxy floundered for a moment, before scoffing. “You don’t _like_ the drunken beach makeouts?”

He shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know. At this point I just feel like I serve the same purpose to you that alcohol does: a distraction. A coping mechanism.”

The satisfying buzz that Roxy had been working on for the past few hours vanished. The tuneful drunken sway the world had taken on stopped. Now it was just spinning discordantly around her, in a way that wasn’t pleasant in the slightest.

“Is that all?” she asked.

“Roxy—”

“I should be getting home now,” she said.

“Okay,” he replied after a moment.

They didn’t speak at all on the car ride back to the palace. Roxy sat in the back, spinning her circlet in her hands and trying not to think. When the car stopped at the back door, she got out without a word and crammed the circlet back on her head as she made her way through darkened hallways and corridors. A mild nausea was settling into the pit of her stomach, and her head was already starting to ache. Fucking gin.

Just as she got back to her room, her pesterchum went off. She only looked at it reluctantly.

\-- absoluteRapidity [AR] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--  
  
AR: Roxy. What I meant to say back there is that we’re not good for each other.  
AR: For both our sakes, I think we should stop dating.  
AR: Dick move, I know, telling you over pesterchum, but...  
AR: You didn’t give me the chance to tell you in person.  
AR: You NEVER give me the chance to actually talk to you.   
AR: And a relationship in which we never talk is just fucking pointless, so...  
AR: Yeah.  
AR: That’s that, I guess.  
AR: Get your brother to fire me if you want, I don’t fucking care.   
AR: I’m sorry.  
  
\-- absoluteRapidity [AR] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \-- 

She ripped the circlet off her head and threw it. It landed somewhere near her bed. Swearing under her breath, she stumbled over to pick it up and sent one last message before signing out of pesterchum:

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--  
  
TG: hey  
TG: wont be able to make it for motion pic nigt after all  
TG: sry  
  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \-- 

TG: ill get back to u on that drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the lack of plot in this chapter, I can tell you that the title of chapter 17 is "The Wonderful Witch." Hooopefully it won't be too long until I can post it. I feel a little bad because this is quite a bit shorter than most of the more recent chapters. 
> 
> Also this chapter was veeeery experimental. It was a total bitch to format, too. Remind me never to do pesterlogs within pesterlogs ever again. :| I mean they were fun to write, sure, but the _formatting_...


	17. The Wonderful Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He wanted to go talk to the witch. He did._   
>  _He also didn’t want to talk to her. Didn’t want to see her or hear about her or have anything to do with her._

**i.**

\--  turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \--  
  
TG: wait so tell me again what happened the other day  
TT: Oh, for Light’s sake, Dave. I’ve told you twice already.  
TG: did you seriously just invoke your own fucking aspect  
TG: is that seriously what just happened there  
TG: but whatever idgaf tell me again  
TT: Why don’t you just admit it to yourself, Dave?  
TG: admit what  
TT: That you really want to go talk to her yourself, but for whatever reason, you’re anxious about it.  
TT: I would hazard a guess as to that reason being that you’re afraid she might actually be more forthcoming in your presence than she was in mine or Dirk’s.  
TG: rose  
TG: fucking hell  
TG: i did not ask for a therapy session  
TT: Well, maybe you need one.  
TG: maybe YOU need one because holy fuck is it so hard for you to just to re-recount something for me??  
TT: Is it so hard for you to just to look in your chat logs?  
TG: ...  
TG: i fucking  
TG: i swear to fuck rose  
TG: youre being unreasonable  
TT: Perhaps.  
TT: But so are you.  
TG: ok   
TG: fucking granted   
TG: im an unreasonable piece of shit there i admitted it are you happy  
TT: Not particularly.  
TG: and on top of that im lazy as fuck and i dont wanna have to scroll all the way back through that massive conversation we had afterwards about my apparent cognitive dissonance towards remembering the first four years of our fucking lives  
TG: the conclusion: fucked  
TG: just throw me a fucking bone rose come on  
TG: or are you too busy reading or some shit with your alien bff is that what this is  
TG: no time for dave when theres fucking READING to be done OH BOY i totally understand how that would take precedence dont even fucking WORRY about it  
TT: Actually, I’m waiting for Roxy. She promised me a breakfast sister-date.  
TG: fucking beautiful  
TT: But she hasn’t shown her face yet and she won’t answer my messages.  
TG: yeah she cancelled our motion pic night last night too  
TG: i wouldnt worry too much shes probably just nursing her hangover  
TG: like most mornings  
TG: especially the mornings after she goes to see that red headed douchefuck  
TT: Hm.  
TG: dont “hm” me rose every time you say hm i just know youre thinking “wow dave is a total idiot but i wont tell him because i dont want to shatter his fragile ego”  
TG: well i have some fuckin news for you rose  
TG: MY EGO ISNT FRAGILE  
TT: Oh, I know that Dave. You might want to be careful, though, because a dramatically assertive outburst such as that might make some people think that you’re merely trying to convince yourself and everyone around you, therefore almost paradoxically holding together aforementioned ego.  
TT: Not that that’s a tactic you’ve ever employed in your lifetime, though, because you are such a well-adjusted and self-assured individual that you have no need to lie to yourself or anyone else about the absolutely sound state of your well-organised and completely non-chaotic psyche.  
TT: Just like everyone else in this family!  
TG: fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck  
TG: rose i am literally about to flip my shit  
TT: Seems like you’ve been in the process of flipping said shit for the past while already.  
TT: Alright, alright. For the sake of peace, and because I’m not as obstinate as you, I’ll concede.  
TG: thank you  
TT: So, like I’ve told you twice already, I went into the basement cells after dinner on Tuesday, asked the guards for the key to our captive Witch’s cell, and then dismissed them.  
TG: ok yes this is the boring part that i dont need to hear again  
TT: You wanted me to re-recount, Dave. It’s all or nothing.  
TG: fine whatever  
TT: I went to the Witch’s cell and she was sitting rather calmly on the cot, with more poise and dignity than you’d expect out of someone stuck behind bars. I introduced myself to her, as Princess Rose Lalonde of Derse, and she offered me the smallest of enigmatic smiles and said, “It’s been a while.”  
TT: Then, as I must admit it has been known to do, curiosity overwhelmed my judgement. I asked her why, twelve years ago, she did not kill you and I as she was commissioned to. She merely continued smiling at me, looking very smug indeed.  
TT: I continued for a while on that line of questioning, making suggestions of possible scenarios that might have arisen to see if I could get any sort of telling reaction out of her.  
TT: Nothing.  
TT: After a while I conceded momentary defeat, and instead asked for her name.  
TT: She hesitated, but after a moment said: “Damara.”  
TG: the fuck kinda name is that anyway  
TT: She’s a troll, remember.  
TG: oh right yeah that explains it  
TT: I moved on to asking her about why she was here now, why she had seemingly tried to assassinate John, etcetera. The only thing that got any kind of response was when I suggested that she hadn’t necessarily wanted to kill John. That maybe she was testing us – you and I, perhaps Dirk and Roxy, too – and that she had in fact intended to get herself captured.  
TT: It resulted in the very faintest widening of her smirk, which I took as confirmation.  
TG: of course you did  
TT: The logical next step was to test my partially confirmed hypothesis, to remove any shadow of doubt. I did what I’d intended to do from the beginning when I’d asked for the key to her cell, and unlocked it. I opened the door wide and stepped back. I told her that she was free to leave.  
TG: bit of a risky fuckin move  
TT: Not particularly, because I knew she wouldn’t. And she didn’t. It certainly wiped the smile off her face, that I’d gotten to the bottom of her ruse.  
TG: you didnt though  
TG: we still dont know any of the whys  
TT: True. But I’ve been trying to deduct some since then,  
TG: of course you have  
TT: And I find it rather obvious that she’s waiting for something.  
TT: What’s more is that I have the growing suspicion that it’s less of a something and more of a someone whom she is waiting for.  
TT: Specifically, you.  
TG: why me  
TT: Well, why don’t you go see her and find out?  
TG: fuck off  
TG: if she wants me so bad then when you opened her cell she could have easily walked out and come and found me  
TT: The point of opening the cell was to prove that the cell itself is not at all what’s keeping her there. If she wanted to find you she would, open cell or not.  
TT: Which I think makes it rather obvious that she wants you to come to her.  
TG: yes but fucking WHY??  
TT: Well, Dave. Like I said. There’s only one way for you to find out.  
TG: you are  
TG: just  
TG: THE most  
TG: infuriating   
TG: person  
TG: ever  
TG: fuck you  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] \-- 

Dave sat up and perched on the edge of his bed. For good measure, he punched the bedspread in frustration.

“Fuckin’ Seer bullshit,” he muttered irritably. “Fucking _Rose_ bullshit.”

A flickering in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and he looked up to see one of the many tiny lightbulbs adorning the room’s ornate chandelier flickering on and off. That was… odd. Not so much the flickering, because lightbulbs were known to die sometimes, no big fucking deal, but because Dave didn’t recall ever having turned on the chandelier. He definitely hadn’t _left_ it on from last night, because he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if that were the case. What a stupid fucking thing to put in a bedroom though—a chandelier, really? Really?

Shrugging internally, he ignored it for now and opened a new chat window.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
TG: im gonna go talk to the fucking witch ok  
TT: What, right now?   
TG: yes  
TG: is that a problem  
TT: Uh, no. So long as you keep your head down, it shouldn’t be.   
TG: dw ill dismiss the guards and all that fucking bullshit  
TG: hey werent we supposed to be deciding what to do with her today anyway  
TT: That was the plan. Unfortunately it’s a rare occasion when anything ever goes exactly according to plan.  
TT: We don’t even get to reach the eleventh hour before everything goes to shit; the plan gets the beating of its fucking life starting from the eleventh fucking minute.  
TG: well maybe rose will turn out to be fucking right as always and after i go and have a little chit-chat with the witch the answers will lay themselves across our laps like a god damn napkin at suppertime  
TT: Yeah, maybe... Hey, are you good, bro?  
TG: fucking stellar why  
TT: You seem a little riled up, is all.  
TG: its just rose being a flighty know-it-all as always   
TG: idk youd think shed tone down the superiority act around her own fucking family  
TG: especially me  
TG: AKA the guy whos been there her whole fucking life  
TG: but she treats me like some dumb child and refers to that troll vampire as if shes some sort of walking goddess  
TT: I dunno, man. That seems to fit pretty appropriately into the oftentimes contentious realm of sibling interactions.  
TG: ok yeah fine thats a good point  
TG: i thought that not being constantly around each other for the first time in our lives would be good for us but it seems to have opened a rift between us or something idk  
TG: or maybe its just me  
TG: yeah its probably just me  
TT: Well, you seem to fuckin’ hate it when your underqualified siblings try to psychoanalyse you, so I won’t go too deep, but don’t you think this sounds like the fallout of twelve years of co-dependency? I think Rose has adjusted to this radically different environment much more readily than you seem to have.  
TT: Which isn’t your fault, of course. It might have something to do with those missing memories of yours, or the fact that your previous living situation treated the two of you with very different gloves on.  
TG: .......  
TG: lets stop talking about me  
TG: uh so  
TG: before i go and possibly give the literal witch who tried to fuckin murder my best bro the other day exactly what she fucking wants (which seems all hells of inadvisable btw) i feel like i should probably play the role of good brother at least once today  
TG: so uh like  
TG: youre all good right?  
TG: roxy said you were pacing up a storm last night or something like that  
TT: Well. She would. It’s nothing though, I’m as fine as s fuckin’ summer’s day.  
TT: You know, beyond the regular stress of these fucking negotiations.  
TG: i hear ya  
TG: all that stuff about the king and duels to the death and shit just seems really fucked up to me  
TT: That’s because it is. Glad I’m not the only one who seems to think so.  
TG: idk what rose is thinking honestly  
TG: see this is what i mean   
TG: somehow now that we are far away from the temple of light shes become more of a stereotypical enigmatic seer than ever  
TG: and its really starting to get on my dick  
TG: i mean its only been like what a week and a half?  
TG: aw fuck i made this about me again sorry bro  
TT: I don’t mind.  
TG: yeah i know you dont   
TG: you dont like talking about yourself thats fine  
TG: and you especially dont like seriously divulging details about the things that are actually legitimately bothering you and making you pace late into the night or whatever  
TG: just like the rest of us in this fucking family  
TG: beyond the occasional bitchfit a la me for the past 5 fucking minutes or so  
TT: It seems that putting the four of us under the same roof was all hells of extremely fucking inadvisable.  
TG: yeah maybe  
TG: if only because it brings up the tally of severely fucked up psyches  
TG: anyway im off to see the witch  
TG: the wonderful witch of oh-fuck-dont-kill-me   
TG: before i talk myself out of it somehow  
TT: Good idea.  
TG: if something goes horribly wrong and i die or something  
TG: make sure everyone knows its roses fault  
TT: Will do.  
TG: k thx  
TG: ill come see you before the meeting today if theres time  
TG: dish out all the deets  
TG: assuming there are any deets to dish out  
TT: I’d appreciate that.  
TG: word  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

Dave stood and immediately wanted to sit down again. Not just because of the vertigo (man, that kept fucking happening), but because of the internal conflict churning somewhere deep in his gut. “Cognitive dissonance” didn’t even _begin_ to describe it. He wanted to go talk to the witch. He did. A morbid sort of curiosity made him want— _need_ —to know what had happened twelve years ago; what had happened to his memories.

He also didn’t want to talk to her. Didn’t want to see her or hear about her or have anything to do with her, for no reason other than the sludgy feeling of foreboding in the back of his throat. He had no doubt that part of it was because of the weirdass shit that had been happening to him—or more accurately, _around_ him—for the past week and a half. Time. Freezing. Skipping forwards. Slowing around him. Speeding up. It had been weird and scary before a fucking _Witch_ of Time had popped up out of literally nowhere. Now it almost made sense, which made it completely _terrifying_.

Because he was afraid that Rose was right. That the Witch wanted _him_. Wanted him to come to her—what else could explain all this weird Time shit? For some fucking reason, she was luring him into a net. If Rose knew what had been happening lately, would she have advised that he walk straight into it?

Well. He’d been in dangerous situations before. How much worse than a horde of oil-black demons could this Witch even _be_?

(Hopefully not much.)

The long walk down the stairs, from the second-to-top floor to the basement, gave Dave plenty of time to question his decision. But walking was easy, it was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other. Of concentrating on the stairs in front of him so he wouldn’t trip and fall on his ass again (he’d been warned about the stairs. They were fucking treacherous if you weren’t paying attention).

By the time he reached the basement he was pretty much committed to this plan of action. He’d already taken the time and expended the energy to walk all the way down those fucking stairs, there was no way he was just gonna go all the way back up again.

The guard at the door to the private cells nodded to Dave as he approached.

“Your Highness,” the guard greeted.

“’Sup,” said Dave. “Tell your friends you’re all dismissed.” He wasn’t sure why Dirk even bothered to keep guards down here. Rose had already established that the Witch wasn’t going anywhere without getting what she wanted, which was possibly Dave. Probably Dave. Fuck.

“Thank you, your Highness,” the guard said, bowing before opening the door and calling through, “Dismissed!”

“Oh, and uh, don’t whisper nary a fuckin’ word to anyone about any of this, blah, blah, blah, all that bullshit.”

“Of course, your Highness,” said the guard, as if saying “your Highness” at the end of every sentence was some sort of nervous twitch. Seriously, it didn’t even feel like a term of address when every fucking person used it every time they talked. God _damn_.

The guards all filed out and Dave was left alone in the draughty stone corridor. The white LED ceiling lights did very little to make the place seem even remotely warm or inviting, and honestly, Dave thought the Witch must be one hell of a fucking crackpot to want to spend any amount of time down here, even if it was for the sake of some evil fucking scheme or whatever.

“Might as well get it over with,” he mumbled to himself, and stepped through the door.

The cell room was larger than Dave had expected, for how empty it was. The district police typically handled crime in Derse City, so there was generally no need to keep the crims sequestered away in the palace dungeons like they were in fucking Camelot or something. Maybe the King had been more apt to keeping… guests.

The Witch of Time was in the first cell on the left—directly parallel the door. As Dave approached she stood, as if in greeting, her rust-red irises affixed to him, a satisfied little smirk on her lips. After a few days down here, she looked exactly the same as she had on Monday—every hair in place around her tightly curled horns, pulled back into a neat bun; her embroidered, high-necked red dress looking clean and pressed. Was this a Time thing, Dave wondered, or just an Evil Person thing? ‘Cause that smirk definitely looked pretty fucking evil from where he was standing.

They stood there staring each other down for a long moment.

“Damara, right?” Dave said cautiously.

Damara nodded.

“So, uh,” he continued. “You tried to kill my bro, John.”

“No, I did not,” she said.

“Uh. You threw sharp objects at him. Pretty fucking sure that counts as attempted murder.”

“Is he dead?”

“Well, no—”

“Then I did not try to kill him.”

Dave blinked behind his shades. The troll had a strange accent, as if English weren’t her first language, and though she spoke very quickly, every word was formal and deliberate.

“What about twelve years ago?” Dave asked. “You were ordered to kill me and my sister. Why didn’t you?”

“It was not part of the plan.”

Even Dave had trouble hiding his surprise about that one: he hadn’t expected the Witch to do anything more than smile enigmatically, just as she had for Rose, and for Dirk.

“The plan?” he questioned, and his voice came out a good deal squeakier than he would ever admit.

“The prophecy.”

“What, the one that predicted Rose and me coming back to Derse?”

Damara’s smile widened. “Yes.”

Okay. That… almost made sense. “Does that mean… you want the King dead?”

“Who does not?” she countered.

Well, that was a pretty fucking fair point. “Why did you have to take our memories, though?”

“The plan,” she repeated.

Dave was almost tempted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t want to look away from the Witch, not for a second. “The prophecy?” he predicted drily.

“Yes.”

Right. Okay. Man, this Witch sure did love to talk, huh? Damn, wasn’t she just a stickler for throwing in every detail all at once so that Dave didn’t have to keep prying and prying and prying as if trying to open a fucking rusted paint tin or something equally asinine.

“Can I have my memories back?” he inquired slowly, anticipating her answer.

“Maybe.” Well, that hadn’t been the answer he’d been expecting.

“What does that mean?”

For the first time, she didn’t answer, which reminded Dave of something. “Why are you answering _my_ questions, but not Rose’s or Dirk’s?”

“Because they are not you,” she said.

Fucking _really_. “Who am I, then?”

Her smile turned into a grin, almost manic below her intense eyes. “Dave Strider, Knight of Time.”

_Knight of_ —? Before he could ponder whatever the fuck _that_ meant, Damara was prowling towards the bars of her cell, towards Dave, slow and deliberate like a cat on the hunt. A sound like a ticking clock filled the air around them, coming from everywhere and nowhere and setting Dave’s teeth on edge. The cell bars decayed before his very eyes, aging centuries in the span of a second so that when the Witch reached them, she had but to nudge the heavily rusted steel out of her path. The fallen bars crumbled to dust at Dave’s feet. Damara advanced.

“Uh, look, I’m sure we can probably work something out between us,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, but completely shattering _that_ attempted illusion by stepping backwards, away from her, as she stepped towards him. Measured and menacing. Despite the fact that she was slim as a toothpick, her self-assured smirk and unblinking eyes made her one of the most frightening things Dave had ever faced. The ticking sound continued, increasing in pace, filling his head and numbing his fight-or-flight instincts.

Just as his back hit the wall, her left hand shot out and grasped the right side of his head. The tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock reached a crescendo, so loud it became unbearable, so fast it blended into a single, horrible, tone.

The Witch gazed dispassionately into Dave’s eyes as pain cleaved through his head, blooming throughout his skull like a continuous stream of blood into water. Everything tinged alarmingly _red_ except for the blinding white spots of light dancing in front of his eyes.

The pain stopped as quickly as it had begun, fading into a dull ache in his temples and a weary nausea all the way up his throat. He realised he was lying on his side on the cold stone, clenching his eyes shut against the twisting and turning of the world around him.

“Are you okay?” he heard from above. A familiar voice. In the back of his mind, he thought it seemed quieter than it should be. Not that he minded; at this volume, the voice’s gravelly affectation was strangely soothing.

Dave opened his eyes a crack, immediately squeezing them shut again at the flood of light. Where the fuck were his shades? He tried again to open his eyes, not getting very far, just barely managing to squint up at the silhouette hovering over him. Messy hair… nubby horns…

“Karkat?”

 

**ii.**

In the candid opinion of one Kankri Vantas, Seer of Blood, advisor to the Crown of Prospit, and ten sweeps old as of next perigee, his fellow delegates of Prospit were far too friendly with and trusting of their Dersian hosts. That is, most specifically, the royal siblings. Of course, he had to admit, Queen Jane’s and Prince Jake’s friendship with the older two of the four siblings had streamlined the process of making a truce considerably—but that only went to a certain point.

However, regardless of how much he tried to warn Jake, Kanaya, and John that their main focus needed to be on getting the Dersian council on side (the Royals were _already_ on their side to the extent that they were advocates for eventual peace, which for the purposes of this trip, was enough), his Sight meant that he could see the growing bonds between his companions and the royal siblings. Even Kanaya—the person Kankri least expected to get distracted—had struck up a friendship with the young Seer of Light.

“Don’t think of it as a distraction,” Kanaya told him when he expressed his distaste to her on Friday morning. “Think of it as… an investment. I believe Rose and I make a good team.”

“Sure, because you read some scrolls and discovered a precedent which may or may not lead to the Prince Regent prematurely becoming the King, possibly at the risk of his life, in the long-term,” Kankri said bitterly.

Kanaya sighed and turned the page on the book she had been reading. “In times of war, the long-term often doesn’t factor, for it is the short-term which determines our survival.”

Kankri just scowled. Kanaya was almost as bad as Porrim, sometimes—just not as overbearing.

“By the way,” she continued. “You haven’t heard anything from Terezi lately, have you?”

“I haven’t been on Trollian since we got here— _I_ , at least, know how to focus on the matter at hand. Why?”

“It’s just that _she_ hasn’t been online either. I can’t help but wonder if it means anything.”

“If it does, it’s not something that should be concerning you at present,” Kankri reminded her.

Kanaya nodded, frowning. “I suppose.”

Although, for all his talk, Kankri _did_ still have his own distractions. Discreetly, he’d been trying to find some sort of intel—written records or something of the like, names, even physical descriptions of convicts sent to Skaia in the past few weeks. His only options were to snoop around the castle or the temple, however, as he knew it would only raise suspicions if he were to ask such a question of his hosts—or, even worse, to go directly to the patrol division responsible for convict drafting. Even trying to find out what division that might be would be a challenge.

On Thursday morning, he’d found something of interest. The palace had many a staircase, making it easy to find a way to the next level from practically anywhere on any floor. However, only the central staircase, grand as it was, lead to every single floor. It was also the only staircase to descend into the basement.

Not that Kankri got very far after discovering this: down a short stone hallway from the stairs was a door, shut tight and _guarded_. If that wasn’t suspicious, Kankri didn’t know the _meaning_ of suspicious. As he’d suspected, the guard had turned him around, but Kankri wasn’t so easily deterred—he knew, as he’d made his way back to his guest quarters, that he _needed_ to find out what was behind that door. What the Dersian royals were hiding in their basement. They _had_ to be hiding something; why else would they have a guarded door?

On Friday morning, after leaving Kanaya’s guest quarters, Kankri had started up the main staircase to start combing his way through the palace’s many floors again. Mainly for lack of something to do before the day’s negotiations began—they started later than usual today, which, after how yesterday’s meeting had ended, was probably just as well. On the way up from the first floor landing, the younger Dersian prince passed by on his way down, so busy muttering to himself that he didn’t seem to notice Kankri’s presence. Puzzled, he turned to watch Strider descend the stairs, blood-pusher jumping just the smallest bit when he saw the prince continue down past ground floor. Into the basement.

He had to remind himself not to run down the stairs in his excitement to possibly learn what was behind those doors. Just as he reached ground floor, six or seven guards appeared at the top of the stairway leading into the basement, muttering secretively to each other. Kankri tried to look nonchalant, but none of them paid him any mind anyway. It wasn’t like he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. Yet.

So evidently there had been more than just the one guard, the rest hidden away behind the basement door. Once Kankri was certain none of them were paying attention to him, he made his way down the stairs as swiftly and quietly as he could. He didn’t know what he wanted to find down here, let alone what he _expected_ to find, he just knew he needed to know.

But… did he? At the bottom of the staircase he stopped, staring at the now-unguarded door at the end of the corridor. Thus far, he’d been justifying all of his snooping about as being for Karkat’s sake. But, really, why was he so reluctant to just _ask_ the Prince Regent if he knew anything about the situation? Surely that would sort everything else much faster, more cleanly, more efficiently…

Wouldn’t it?

_I’m already here,_ he thought to himself. _I’ve always made a point never to do anything halfway. It’s all or nothing, otherwise why even bother?_

With his resolve firmly and forcefully back in its mental indentation, he made his way down the corridor. As he got closer to the door, he could see that it had been left open the slightest crack, and hear the murmur of low voices.

“—Answering my questions, but not Rose’s or Dirk’s?” he heard the young Strider say as he approached, slowly edging forwards to peer inside.

“Because they are not you,” said an unfamiliar voice. Beyond the door was a corridor at a right-angle to the one leading from the stairs. Peeking through the door, Kankri could see Strider standing there, facing something directly to the left of the door.

Kankri’s blood-pusher sank—in disappointment or shame, he wasn’t sure. He realised what he was looking at: a private prison. Of course; his own delegate companion had nearly been murdered just a few days ago. How had he not considered this?

“Who am I, then?” Strider was saying.

“Dave Strider, Knight of Time.”

Then, it was as if Kankri blinked and missed an entire series of events. Suddenly, the slim assassin—now in view, outside in the corridor—clutched a sheet-white Dave Strider by the side of the head. She’d appeared out of nowhere, as if she’d teleported from the inside to the outside of the cell hidden from Kankri’s view. She wasn’t the only one, however: Dave seemed to have teleported, too, and was now backed up against the wall. It was… _bizarre_ , and as Kankri’s mind reeled to fill in the gaps of _what in the universe just happened_ , the assassin drew her hand away. Strider crumpled to the stone floor, sunglasses flying off his face and skittering across the tiles.

The assassin turned and looked directly at Kankri. Her piercing rust-red stare seemed to bring him back to life, and he threw open the door, yelling “Stop!” just as she seemed to fade out of existence.

He stared for a moment at the spot where she had been, think-pan positively _reeling_ as he tried to find some sort of explanation for what had just happened. A tiny groan from the floor reminded him of the corridor’s other occupant, and with a start, he looked down at the prince. His hair, so white it almost seemed unnatural even for a human, was stained crimson where the assassin had been clutching him. That… wasn’t good.

“Are you okay?” Kankri asked hesitantly, kneeling down.

Dave’s eyelids flickered, opening and then snapping shut again. He opened them again, keeping them squeezed into a squint, peering up at Kankri.

“Karkat?” he mumbled.

Kankri’s blood froze.

“Wh-what did you just say?”

“Uh…” Dave’s brow creased and his eyes slipped closed again. “Fuck. Sorry, man, you just looked like someone I know. Where are my shades?”

Speechless, Kankri obligingly reached over and plucked the shades up off the floor, placing them in Dave’s searching hand.

_You must have heard him wrong,_ Kankri told himself as Dave slid the sunglasses onto his face and sat up—probably way faster than was advisable, considering the volume of blood painting the side of his head.

“That’s better,” Dave muttered. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a hand flew up to clutch at his head. “Fuck, never mind, no it’s not,” he groaned. He turned towards Kankri, breathing heavily. “Oh shit, you really do look like Karkat. How did I not notice that before…?” He winced again, and drew his hand away from his head, staring at the blood on it. “Fuck. Not again.”

Kankri, however, was too caught up in his own personal dilemma. “You know Karkat?” he blurted.

“Uh, yeah,” said Dave, pushing himself around to lean against the stone wall. With the hand that wasn’t covered in blood, he rubbed at his eyes under his shades. Even with aforementioned shades, he looked utterly exhausted.

“How?” Kankri asked. “How do you know my brother?”

“Your brother? Yeah, okay, I can see that. Well,” Dave began, pulling his royal circlet off his head. “Long story short, when I first got here the patrol officers didn’t know who I was, arrested me, and sent me to Skaia. Karkat was on the train with me.”

“He _what_?”

“You fucking heard me,” Dave said testily. He held out the circlet towards Kankri. “Do me a favour. Message Dirk and tell him Rose was fuckin’ right. As always.”

TG: the wonderful witch of oh-fuck-dont-kill-me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll let you in on a little secret: a lot of the time pesterlogs are just stress relief. Seriously - feeling stressed? Write pesterlogs. A tree threw a stone at my car yesterday so I had to fork out for a windscreen repair. Pesterlogs. I have a class at 8am tomorrow. Pesterlogs. I have so much fucking reading to do this semester but none of my textbooks have arrived yet. Pesterlogs. _I still haven't found a fucking Pikachu in Pokemon Go. PESTERLOGS._
> 
> Anyway, the chapter! It was nice to write Dave's POV again. It's been like three chapters. Oh yeah and I guess there was some pretty intense plot shit that went down. Yep. Hope you liked it!
> 
> Also! Also also also! As of this chapter, this fic is the longest thing I've ever written. The second longest thing, at about 71,000 words, took a year from when it was first started. This has taken a month and a half. ~~and yet we're nowhere near the end.~~


	18. Absolutely Atrocious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Witch had called him… a Knight of Time. Okay, so that fit pretty seamlessly into the prophecy which literally referred to him as a fucking ‘Knight’, but until now he’d thought that it was just some fancy-ass title to be used alongside the much more literal moniker of ‘Seer’ for Rose._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention last chapter (because I was too busy rambling about whatever) but thank you all very very very much for over 1000 hits!! That's just... fucking crazy to me.

**i.**

\--  turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
TG: Hell9?  
TT: ...Dave?  
TG: N9, This is Kankri.  
TG: Vantas, that is.   
TG: H9ld 9n...  
TG: That’s 6etter.  
TT: Oh sure, one whole shade brighter red. Such improve.  
TG: Y9ur 6r9ther asked me t9 tell y9u that... “R9se was right as always?”  
TT: Uh... huh.  
TT: I have a bad feeling about this.  
TT: Exactly why couldn’t Dave have told me that himself?  
TG: I’m n9t sure.  
TG: 9h, he says the h9l9-screen makes his head hurt w9rse.  
TT: What?  
TT: Is he okay?  
TG: Well... 6etween y9u and me, he d9esn’t l99k particularly g99d, 6ut he’s at least c9gnizant, which is m9re than c9uld 6e said 9f him mere minutes ag9.  
TG: Als9, the assassin escaped.  
TG: And I have s9me very, very crucial questi9ns t9 ask y9u a69ut s9me 9f the ramificati9ns 9f Derse’s Min9r 9ffenders Act. In fact, less questi9ns and m9re demands, if I’m 6eing c9mpletely h9nest – it’s an a6s9lutely atr9ci9us situati9n y9u’ve g9t there, Strider, and things need t9 start t9 change 6ef9re Pr9spit can agree t9 any s9rt 9f truce with Derse.  
TT: ...  
TT: You’ve seriously fucking lost me.   
TT: You’re in the basement, right?  
TG: I...  
TG: Yes.  
TT: I’m on my way there now.  
TT: Why the fuck are _you_ there anyway?  
TT: Forget it, we can worry about that later. Same with the minor offenders stuff, can we please leave the political bullshit within the timeslot that it’s been so meticulously assigned to?  
TT: For the sake of my own fucking sanity, and for the sake of the fact that there are more important things to be taking care of at the moment.  
TG: Y9ur y9unger 6r9ther, y9u mean?  
TT: Yes. Obviously.  
TG: Well! Guess where *my* y9unger 6r9ther is, Prince Regent?  
TG: At Skaia, apparently! 6ecause 9f y9ur father’s inappr9priately indiscriminate decree!  
TT: Aw, fuck.  
TT: Okay, well, we can deal with that as soon as we’re able to.  
TT: For now let’s just... deal with what’s immediately in front of us.  
TT: If I understand correctly, what’s immediately in front of you is Dave.  
TT: Remember when you said he didn’t look good? Damn, dude, if you want me to care about whatever happened to your brother, you might want to at least pretend to show some concern for mine.  
TT: Sound fair?  
TG: S9unds like 6lackmail.  
TT: For fuck’s sake, dude, I’m just making a point.  
TG: Fine. I understand.   
TG: He says he d9esn’t want t9 try standing up just yet 6ecause he d9esn’t want t9 risk 6lacking 9ut again.  
TT: Fuck.  
TT: Boy do I yearn for some fuckin’ context.  
TG: I’m n9t entirely sure what happened myself, s9rry.  
TT: Don’t bother. I’ll get the story out of him. I sort of know what it’s about already anyway.  
TT: Consider it a family matter.  
TG: Hmm.  


 

**ii.**

He couldn’t be entirely sure yet, but as he sat against the wall of the palace prison, staring at the once-again pristine cell bars across from him, Dave thought that maybe he might remember. Those first four years. Maybe. There was no cinema-reel flashback like he'd secretly sort of possibly expected. It was hard to separate it from everything else reeling through his mind, only serving to exacerbate the ache throughout his skull. That ache was like an old friend to him. Or an old archenemy. Either way.

The Witch had called him… a Knight of Time. Okay, so that fit pretty seamlessly into the prophecy which literally referred to him as a fucking ‘Knight’, but until now he’d thought that it was just some fancy-ass title to be used alongside the much more literal moniker of ‘Seer’ for Rose. The way Damara had phrased it made it seem more like a class, but there was no class called ‘Knight’ as far as Dave recalled. Admittedly, if he was something of Time, that provided a fitting alternate explanation as to the freaky time shit that had been happening around him. However, he still preferred the idea that the Witch had just been fucking with him… which was a weird thing to prefer.

Then there was Kankri, strangely resembling Dirk as he paced up and down, using Dave’s circlet’s chat module. And his chumhandle. But he didn’t resemble Dirk as much as he resembled Karkat, the perpetually grouchy troll whom Dave had sorta-almost made friends with during his short time at Skaia. Dave liked to _think_ that he and Karkat resembled something like friends, at least, despite having only interacted over the course of a single day—a good portion of which Dave had been unconscious for. But it was the kind of situation, life threatening and ultra-dangerous, that either pushed people together or drove them apart. That was along the lines of what Rose had said, at least, when Dave told her about it. It seemed like Dave and Karkat’s personalities had meshed in such a way that they’d worked well together in the strenuous situation they’d faced. As a team, rather than as individuals.

Happenstance was a fickle, esoteric bitch. For example, this happenstance right here—that Karkat was, by the way, Prospitian, and his brother was an advisor to the new Queen, _and_ part of the envoy negotiating a truce with Derse. Not to mention the coinkydink of Dave being a fucking prince of Derse in the first place. Yep, that wasn’t something that should be ignored.

Kankri looked a lot like Karkat. More and more, now that Dave was actually paying attention. He felt like an idiot for not noticing in the first place, but he _had_ only known Karkat for one single day. Plus, Kankri was a windbag otherwise not worth paying much attention to, and Dave had been kinda fucking preoccupied with his own personal dilemmas anyway.

Actually, thinking about it, it was odd that Kankri and Karkat looked alike, since trolls didn’t actually have legit genetic siblings the way humans did. Maybe it was a blood-typing thing. He’d thought, at first, that Karkat was a rustblood, but Kankri’s blood was a _little_ brighter than rusty, which meant Karkat’s probably was, too. Huh. What a useless and totally inconsequential thing to deduce.

“Alright.” Kankri had stopped pacing, and was stood looking at Dave, holding the circlet out towards him. “Your brother’s on his way. He’s promised to answer some of my questions later.”

Dave sighed, taking the circlet but not putting it back on his head. “Dirk had nothing to do with any of that bullshit,” he said. “The decree was the King and the arrest was the patrol officers.”

Kankri scowled. “As I understand it, as soon as the Prince Regent learned that _you_ had been sent to Skaia, he immediately called for your return. You weren’t meant to be there. Neither is Karkat, and so I’d like to know that he’s safe and won’t get hurt, and the only way I can do that thoroughly is by getting him _away_ from the battlefield.”

“Sounds like you don’t think he’s capable of taking care of himself,” Dave observed. “Trying to baby him is only going to push him away.” Sometimes Dave surprised himself with the wisdom of his own words. If only Rose were here to hear _that_ one.

Fuck, ever since Dirk had mentioned Dave’s possible co-dependency issues, every reference his brain made to Rose only made him want to bury himself alive.

“Don’t act like you know anything about me _or_ my brother,” Kankri said disdainfully.

Dave held up his hands in surrender, _seriously_ not in the mood to argue with this guy. “I’m just sayin’ dude. There’s gotta be a reason why Karkat ran away from Prospit in the first place.”

Kankri’s sneer turned into an all-out glare, but before he could reply, he was interrupted by Dirk’s entrance: The Prince fucking Regent appeared in the doorway, the space between his eyebrows creased in concern, and Dave’s fucking breath caught in his throat.

_He remembered._

A couple of months or so before he and Rose turned four, Dave had caught the flu. The others had been warned to stay away, lest they catch it, too. Not that they listened. Dirk, in particular, had made a point out of sneaking in every night after the attendants had left, and when he’d climbed up onto the bed and peered down at Dave, his expression had been the same. That subtle expression of concern. Dave remembered.

Dirk was kneeling beside him, examining his head, combing gently through the blood-soaked hair on Dave’s right side.  “There’s no wound,” he muttered.

“What?” replied Kankri. “But there’s blood all over him.”

“I can see that, funnily enough” Dirk replied drily. “But there’s no wound. Even before, there was at least a half-healed gash, but now there’s nothing. Not even a scar.”

“How is that possible?” Kankri asked.

“Time,” Dave blurted, his voice embarrassingly raw. “I think… I think she rewound and then fast-forwarded or something.”

“But why?” Dirk stopped looking for a head wound, his left hand coming to rest on Dave’s shoulder. “Dave, what happened?”

Well, that was a good fucking question. What _had_ happened? “I…” he glanced at Kankri, who was still just standing there in the middle of the corridor, arms crossed and looking super fucking impatient and like he didn’t give the faintest shit about the serious fucking drama that was going on right here and right now. Sure, Dave could sympathise, Karkat was his single-day sorta-friend after all, but that wasn’t the reason why his heart was currently beating erratically, his breaths catching around the lump in his throat.

Luckily, Dirk understood, and looked sharply and meaningfully at Kankri. “Later, okay?”

Kankri opened his mouth to argue. “But—”

Dirk held up a hand. “Later. I already told you I’d sort it out, and I don’t intend to break that promise.”

After a tense moment, Kankri nodded stiffly and swept out of the room.

“Better?” Dirk asked, settling himself more comfortably beside Dave.

“I guess,” Dave chuckled lowly.

“Okay. So tell me what happened.”

Dave shook his head. “I don’t even know, dude. I still don’t understand why she wanted to see me… but also I do understand, more now than I did.”

“Well,” Dirk said slowly. “That sounds… complicated.”

“Yeah. Well. It is. I asked her why she didn’t kill Rose and me and she said something about the prophecy. She pretty much wants the King dead as much as any sane person, which means maybe she’s not a bad guy after all?”

Dirk shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe.”

“And she called me…” He swallowed. “Okay, fuck, I might as well fucking tell you, okay?” He took a shaky breath. “Since I got back from Skaia, some— some pretty fuckin’ weird shit has been goin’ down. Like, remember when you showed me that room, and I low-key freaked the fuck out?”

“I recall.”

“Well, yeah, that was because we were talking and then time suddenly fucking _froze_.”

Dirk tilted his head. “I’m… guessing you didn’t do that on purpose.”

“ _Fuck_ no. Then the same thing happened when we were on the balcony waving to the fucking masses of Derse. That pretty much contributed directly to the embarrassing freak-out I had afterwards.”

“No one was judging you for that. I’d figured it was the crowds and the noise,” Dirk said, frowning. “I’ve never really been a fan of all that shit, either.”

“I could tell. But then, the other day? Out at the front gates? I sorta— I sort of— uh, I guess _saw_ what was going to happen before it happened. I knew the Witch was gonna try to kill John, so I… stopped that from happening.” He twisted his circlet in his grip, staring furiously down at his hands as he tried to bring some modicum of sequentiality to everything that had been happening. “And, like… Rose was right when she said the Witch had counted on me pushing John out of the way, but not in the way she thought. It wasn’t my instincts, it was something else entirely. She _was_ testing me. She was— she was testing my…”

“Time powers?” Dirk suggested quietly.

Dave dropped the circlet to the floor with a resounding clatter. “Right before she did whatever the fuck she did to me, she called me Knight of Time.”

“Knight?”

“Like the prophecy.”

“That’s… fuck. Wow. Okay. What—  what exactly _did_ she do to you?”

“Some Time shit, I don’t know.” The lump in Dave’s throat returned, full force, one hell of an obstruction for the words he was trying to force up his windpipe. “I think it was like she was… rewarding me, or something. For coming to see her. For giving her what she wanted.”

“Dave,” said Dirk. “You’re covered in blood. That doesn’t seem like much of a fuckin’ reward to me.”

“I know, but…” He turned to look directly at Dirk, making some approximation of eye contact through their respective pairs of shades. “I _remember_.”

Dirk’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean…?”

“Yeah. Everything. I mean, there’s not really much to remember considering how fucking young we were, but I remember wondering why the King never wanted anything to do with me. Or Rose. Why he pretended we didn’t exist.”

“That’s pretty much how it always was with him,” Dirk said softly. “Which is why Roxy and I gave up caring a long time ago. It was… it was a fucking _mercy_ that you didn’t have to remember that, you know.”

“Maybe, but…” Aw, fuck. He was _not_ tearing up. That was _not fucking cool_. “I remember you and Roxy, too. Like I said, there’s not much, but…” he shrugged. “It’s something. And you didn’t really feel like my _brother_ before, because you were just some dude who looks like me and is the Prince fucking Regent. But now, I don’t know. It’s just… different.”

Dirk nodded gently. “I get it.”

Dave sniffed wetly. “Yeah.”

They sat silently for a moment, in the draughty prison corridor under cold LED lighting. Not even an hour ago, this situation would have been awkward as fuck, and maybe it was still awkward, but the awkwardness was palpably softened simply by the fact that _Dave remembered_ those first few years, as little as there was to recall. He remembered not having to rely on Rose so much, not feeling like some sort of stereotypical fucking burden to her for once. He remembered Roxy doting over him and brushing his hair and trying to trick him into letting her and Rose paint his nails. He remembered trailing after Dirk, looking up to him and wanting to be everything that _he_ was. Watching him begin his training with a sword and hardly being able to _wait_ until the two of them could spar together.

Things were different now. That was irrefutable. Dave had spent twelve years _not_ remembering any of that, of clinging to Rose like a lifeline because she _was_ his lifeline, and in many ways he was hers. He’d spent ten of those twelve years feeling lonely and unloved because even though he had pesterchum friends, even though Rose was there the whole time, he had to watch her being praised and practically fucking _worshipped_ whilst he pretended he didn’t exist; whilst he felt like the unnecessary extra that was never meant to exist in the first place. And Dirk had spent those twelve years in a tempest of growing contempt towards their father, the _King_ , with the weight of the entire kingdom hanging above his head, inching closer year by year to dropping and doing its very best to fucking _crush_ him under its weight. Who even fucking knew what kind of poisonous thought processes that kind of life would generate?

Dave had said it before, and he would continue saying it until it no longer applied, but the four of them were unspeakably and irrevocably _fucked. Up._

“Fuck,” Dave croaked, turning and resting his forehead against the crook of Dirk’s neck. “Sorry.”

Dirk tensed in surprise for the briefest moment before relaxing, his arms slowly wrapping—a little awkwardly—around Dave’s back. “Don’t worry about it,” he murmured softly. “I get it.”

“Good,” Dave mumbled into Dirk’s clavicle. “’Cause this is so fuckin’ dumb of me.”

“Maybe a little,” Dirk agreed, resting his cheek on Dave’s hair.

They stayed like that for a while, until Dave’s headache had faded and he felt better, lighter, than he had in literal fucking years.

 

**iii.**

If there was one trait Jake English had an absolute abundance of, it was indecision. If there was one thing in the world that he was absolutely terrible at, it was knowing what he wanted. So that was why, as he sat on the bed in the guest quarters that had been lent to him for the duration of his stay in Derse—and who even _knew_ , at this point, how long that would end up being—he was at such an impasse with himself.

He felt like a bit of a coward, honestly, having skipped dinner last night just to avoid facing his own internal conflict. Although, as it had turned out, Thursday night’s dinner hadn’t been very popular. John had frantically messaged him asking where everyone had got to, he and Kankri having been the only ones to show, which had probably been… very awkward for poor John. No one really enjoyed being alone in a room with Kankri. Not that anyone would ever tell him that.

But today’s negotiations were drawing closer by the minute, and while it was one thing to skip dinner, skipping a meeting was another thing entirely. It would not look good. It wasn’t necessarily that he was avoiding _Dirk_ , per se. Okay, maybe it was. Just a little bit. But only because he was the direct source of Jake’s current internal turmoil. Not by any fault of his, of course! And knowing him, Dirk would never be the one to broach the topic. The Prince Regent would probably just pretend nothing had happened.

Except, unless Jake had really gone ‘round the twist, something _had_ happened. Something. Last night. On the balcony. In an almost cinematic moment of pure sincerity; two long-time internet chums expressing their respective insecurities. And then… having a bit of a snog. Just a bit. Yeah, that broke the cliché a little.

It broke the cliché in… a strangely thrilling way.

Jake smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand.

_Jake English, you are a taken man!!_ he berated himself. _Just… not by choice._

Well, this certainly wasn’t the sort of kerfuffle that would be peacefully resolved anytime soon. Which was exactly the kind of kerfuffle which Jake so hated, but was just so bloody brilliant at getting himself into. Hooray.

His comms device going off in his pocket proved to be a sound distraction for the time being.

\-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling golgothasTerror [GT] \--  
  
GA: Jake I Do Hope Youre Not Busy Right Now  
GT: Kanaya! No not particularly.  
GT: Im just sitting here doing bugger all in fact.  
GT: Why?  
GA: It Would Seem That Your Second In Command Is  
GA: How Should I Say  
GA: Throwing A Very Vantas Tantrum  
GT: Oh dear!  
GT: Erm... what does that entail exactly?  
GA: You Would Understand If You Knew His Brother  
GT: I see. I think?  
GA: You Do Not Have To Pretend To Understand Jake  
GA: The Long Story Short Is That Kankris Brother Karkat Is Particularly Known For Throwing Legendary Tantrums  
GA: Which Many Of Our Friends Have Dubbed Vantas Bitchfits  
GA: And It Would Seem That Karkat Is Not The Only Vantas Capable Of Such Fits Of Bitchery  
GT: Fits of bitchery huh?  
GT: That certainly sounds like it could be an issue. This close to todays meeting most especially.  
GA: My Thoughts Exactly  
GA: It Would Seem That Our Seer Of Blood Had An Encounter With The Prince Regent Which He Is Not Best Pleased About  
GA: I Do Believe I Actually Heard Something About Karkat In Amongst The Nearly Hysterical Incoherency Of His Enraged Yelling and Shouting  
GT: Oh! Is karkat the one that went missing?  
GA: Yes  
GT: I remember you mentioning him before.  
GT: Hmm. Well.  
GT: Where are you right now?  
GT: Im not sure if i can really be of any assistance since kankri and i are comrades more so than actual chums.  
GT: But as leader of the envoy i suppose its my duty to at least TRY sort these things out...  
GT: Not that ive been very successful at that thus far.  
GA: This Just In  
GA: Ive Lost Kankri  
GT: Youve what??  
GA: Im Sorry  
GA: I Got Distracted Talking To You And He Stalked Off Somewhere  
GA: Probably To Fume Some More To Someone Who Might Be More Willing To   
GA: Throw Him A Bone   
GA: As A Human Like Yourself Might Say  
GA: Although I Cant Think Of Who That Could Ever Possibly Be  
GA: But I Have No Doubt That He Is Planning To Make A Scene At The Meeting  
GT: How long have we got???  
GA: Let Me Check  
GA: About Ten Minutes  
GT: What!!?  
GT: Sodding hell! How did it get so late already?  
GA: By Progressing Chronologically From Hour To Hour Minute To Minute And Second To Second  
GT: Well... yes i suppose that is how it got so late.  
GT: But never mind any of that. What are we going to do??  
GA: If My Suspicions Are Correct  
GA: Which I Suspect They Are  
GA: Kankri Will Have Headed To The Meeting Hall  
GT: The midnight hall.  
GA: What  
GT: The hall we meet in is called the midnight hall.  
GT: Its really quite a lovely space. Very atmospheric! It almost seems criminal of us to tarnish it with all our globular politicking.  
GA: Im Not Sure Ive Ever Heard Politicking Described As Globular  
GA: However The Comparison Seems Unusually Fitting  
GA: Anyway I Suspect Kankri Will Have Headed To The Midnight Hall  
GA: Which Means That There Is Approximately No Time In Which We Will Be Able To Devise A Plan To Calm Him Down  
GA: Let Alone Put It Into Action  
GT: Blithering bollocks!!  
GT: What do we do then?  
GA: I Believe We Simply Will Have To Watch And Hope That This Twist Plays Out For The Better  
GA: If Not Entirely In Our Favour  
GT: Bugger...  
GT: I wonder what actually happened?  
GA: As I Understand It (In Other Words What I Was Able To Discern From Kankris Enraged Rambling) Something Happened Involving Both Strider Princes That Also Has Something To Do With Karkat  
GA: I Also Understand That If The Two Of Us Do Not Get A Move On We Are Going To Be Late For The Meeting  
GT: Oh quivering quokkas!! Youre right!  
GA: Quokkas Are Very Cute  
GA: I Am Alarmed To Hear That They Are Quivering  
GA: Are They Scared  
GT: Yes!!!!  
GT: Theyre terrified about being late to this fucking meeting!!  
GT: This very important fucking meeting!  
GT: I always love a good palaver with you kanaya but like you said we really both ought to get going.  
GA: This Is True  
GT: Ill see you there!!  
  
\-- golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] \-- 

 

It seemed like Kankri couldn’t wait to actually get _into_ the Midnight Hall before kicking up his apparently family-patented massive fuss. Instead, he’d cornered poor old Dirk in the doorway, and was giving him what-for (with an accusatory pointing finger and everything), occasionally gesturing and glaring at large at the gathered crowd of council members, guards, palace attendants… pretty much everyone.

“—And who even _knows_ how many other Prospitians have fallen into the same dishonest and dirtily-lain trap and are _as we speak_ being forced to fight in a war that they should have no part in, on a side they do not belong to! The younger brother of a royal advisor is only the tip of the problematic iceberg here, and you’d all be ignorant fools to not be able to see what stupidity it has been for you all to go along with this asinine decree for as long as you have! And don’t even let me get _started_ on Derse’s stance on witchcraft. You want to kill people simply because of what they’re born as? Actually, no, don’t answer that! I know most of you blue-blooded elitist halfwits would, in fact, much rather see someone of my own blood wiped off the face of the planet simply because of the aforementioned uncontrollable feature beneath my skin, because you’re all of you stuck with antiquated notions of hemo-superiority!”

Then he spotted Jake, hovering in the middle of the entrance hall, not entirely sure what he should or could do in this situation.

“Your Highness!” he shouted, beckoning Jake over. Reluctantly, Jake obliged. He spotted Kanaya’s face behind the shoulder of one of the councillors, very wisely staying out of sight and likely waiting for her opportunity to… do something actually useful. “You agree with me, don’t you? You agree that some of the laws in this kingdom are downright unjust, and result in likely hundreds of injustices against Dersian _and_ Prospitian innocents every week. As I have just uncovered, my own brother has been pressed into service at Skaia!”

“Well, I, er,” Jake stammered, glancing at Dirk. The Prince Regent was standing there like something of a statue, shades over his eyes, showing no reaction to Kankri’s diatribe. “I do believe it was one of the things we were intending to negotiate a compromise to, isn’t it?”

“A compromise isn’t good enough,” insisted Kankri. “Personally, I refuse to continue pussyfooting around the true matters at hand, with no one wanting to decide on anything in particular because of one reason or another.”

“I believe this may warrant a more close-knit discussion,” said Kanaya, finally stepping into view with Rose at her side examining the scene with a keen seriousness, and John hovering nervously behind them. Kanaya looked directly at Dirk. “Our four with your four, perhaps?”

“That seems like a sound idea to me,” Jake quickly agreed, before Kankri could say anything.

“I agree. It’s a private matter after all, isn’t it?” Dirk said, speaking for the first time. “I don’t doubt that you think our laws are foolish, but your true motive is getting your brother back.”

Kankri’s eyes visibly narrowed, his mouth twisting into a frown. “Fine.”

“Good.” Dirk looked around at the assembled crowd, then raised his voice to address them. “You can return to your jobs, if you please.” The various guards and attendants that had wandered in at the sound of the commotion were stirred into a flurry of activity, hurrying away like startled mice. Dirk waited until they were gone to address the council. “I hate to delay things longer than they need to be delayed, but I think we’ll have to suspend today’s negotiations.”

The councillors slouched away with inaudible mumbles. Although some looked rather pleased at not having to sit through the usual cyclical discussions. Jake honestly couldn’t blame them.

So that left just the Prospitian envoy and half of the Strider-Lalonde royal siblings. As they filed in, John looked around the entrance hall once more before asking at large, “Where’s Dave?”

“He’s ill,” Dirk answered immediately, closing the doors behind them and striding the length of the room towards his seat at the far end of the table. Jake rather tentatively took his own seat next to Kankri. The high-ceilinged Midnight Hall was echoey and felt a lot larger and colder with so few occupants.

Rose, in the middle of taking her own seat, looked sharply at Dirk, an expression of concern creasing her usually serene features. “He is?”

“Recent developments,” Dirk said by way of answer. He reached his seat, but didn’t sit. He merely stood behind it, leaning on the back of the chair. “Looks like it might just be four to two. No one happens to have seen Roxy today, have they?”

“She stood me up for breakfast,” Rose said quietly, looking positively disheartened at this point.

“Well, then,” Dirk said, a sarcastic brightness in his voice. “Doesn’t this just make us look great.” He looked directly at Kankri. “So, what do you want me to do? I already promised I’d have your brother withdrawn from the battlefield, and then I promised I would keep that promise. Are you pissed off that I didn’t leap to fixing all your problems straight away because I had a situation of my own to deal with?”

Kankri fidgeted beside Jake. “You seem forthcoming enough when you aren’t in the presence of your councillors, Prince Regent. Why is that?”

“It wouldn’t do any of us any favours, at this point, if Dirk was publicly seen to agree that the councillors are fools for having agreed to a law which we can all, from our lofty moral standpoints, agree is unfair,” Rose said.

“Particularly not with the precedent we are currently trying to impress upon them,” Kanaya added.

Kankri rounded on her. “Whose side are you on, Maryam?”

“We’re all supposed to be on the same side,” John broke in. “Isn’t that the whole point of this? Us against the council?”

“That was the plan,” Dirk agreed drily.

“If I may ask,” Kanaya began. “Kankri, how did you come to learn that Karkat is in Skaia?”

Unexpectedly, a flush of red spread across Kankri’s cheekbones. “Well, I—”

“Yes, Kankri,” said Dirk. “Personally, I’d love to know the entire story as to how you found yourself in the palace basement.”

Jake didn’t fail to notice the way Rose’s head snapped towards Dirk so fast it was surprising she didn’t give herself whiplash.

“Well,” Kankri tried again, haughtily. “I was trying to do exactly what I ended up doing. Finding out whether or not my brother had been sent to Skaia. As it turns out, _your_ brother was temporary comrade to mine.”

“And you didn’t think to just… ask?” said Dirk. “Instead you thought you’d sneak around the palace?”

“Now…” Jake said hesitantly, “as much as it does seem like Kankri was in the wrong here, this really isn’t an interrogation.”

Dirk stared at Kankri a second longer, before lowering his head and removing his shades. When he looked back up, he looked directly at Jake, his gaze still so fiery orange even from such a distance—

Oh, fucking fuck! Was Jake really so easily wooed? By one kiss?? He’d never even imagined that Dirk could be… well, his _type._ Potentially. He hoped to whatever higher powers there might be that he wasn’t blushing right now.

“My apologies,” Dirk said quietly. “Then you should all know that, by no fault of Kankri’s, our teleporting assassin has teleported herself right the fuck out of here.”

Poor Rose looked like she was going to explode. “So when you…” She coughed in an attempt to compose herself. “So when you say Dave is _ill_ …”

“He’s fine,” Dirk assured her, but Rose looked more hurt than anything. Abruptly, she stood.

“Mr. Vantas, if you’re really so concerned about your brother, the solution is rather simple,” she said sharply. “When Dirk contacts HQ to request Karkat’s return—which I suggest you do right now,” she added to Dirk, “He can also request direct communication with your brother. That way, you’ll be able to talk to him and be assured that he is in perfect health before he is placed on the train back to Derse City, where he will have wireless connection and be able to contact you via his own device for the few hours that the train takes to return to the city. Then you can reunite with him and you will have no further reason to sneak about the palace _or_ shout at my brother as if the King’s decrees are exclusively his fault.” She nodded at Jake and John, and made eye contact with Kanaya. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” And she swept out of the room, leaving Dirk standing alone at the head of the table.

Kankri sniffed uncomfortably. “I suppose that would be satisfactory,” he said.

“Good,” said Dirk. “I’m contacting HQ right as we speak.” And, indeed, Jake could see the flicker of a holoscreen in front of the Prince Regent’s left eye. Quite remarkable technology, those circlets. Dirk looked at Jake, Kanaya, and John in turn. “You three don’t have to stick around if you don’t want to. I think everything is more or less sorted. Or at least I hope it is.”

Kanaya stood. “Thank you,” she said, and swept out of the room in much the same manner that Rose had, moments earlier.

“I’m still confused,” John admitted. “What happened with the assassin? And what happened to Dave? Rose seemed really worried, which makes me think I should probably be worried, too.”

“Long story short,” said Dirk distractedly, “the assassin was the Witch of Time who stole their memories and dumped them who-knows-where twelve years ago. For some reason, she wanted to talk to Dave, and somehow she gave him his memories back.” He let out a shuddering sigh. “He’s not actually ill, just exhausted, I think. You should go see him, if you want to.”

“Yeah. Okay.” John nodded, still looking uncertain, and left the room with considerably less sweeping than Rose or Kanaya had. Dirk removed the circlet from his head, coming around the table and holding it out. As he came towards them, both Kankri and Jake stood, though Jake felt a good deal more uneasy than Kankri looked, purposefully striding forwards to meet Dirk halfway with a stiff “thank you,” before taking the circlet and ramming it onto his head.

Dirk spared the tiniest of glances in Jake’s direction before sliding his shades back on and silently leaving the room. Jake stood there a moment longer, alone but for Kankri, standing by the waist of the table, his hands still at either sides of his head as if holding the circlet in place.

Indecision. Again.

_Oh, don’t be such a coward!_ He told himself, mobilising his legs and pushing through the doors into the entrance hall.

It was empty.

TG: It’s an a6s9lutely atr9ci9us situati9n y9u’ve g9t there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was unexpectedly _really_ fun writing that pesterlog between Jake and Kanaya. Their personalities mesh in a really cool way. I have to wonder how interactions between them would have played out in canon.
> 
> I feel very... content, right now. It won't last, because I'm a student and contentment never lasts when you're a student (even if you really love what you're studying, which I do), but still. I think writing and editing and publishing this fic has for the most part just been really good for my mental state. Expressionism. It work.
> 
> Also I love this chapter. But not as much as I love next chapter lol just u wait. (/ouo)/


	19. Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ampora stood outside Karkat’s cell staring disdainfully down at him. Karkat stared back, not bothering to stand or salute or anything. Why should he? What was Ampora gonna do; give him demerit points? Oh no, not demerit points! Not a black mark on his flawless military record! Oh, wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... _so_ fucking tired rn. No matter how fascinating the subject is, 8am classes suck. Particularly if you're anything like me, and probably better suited to nocturnality. I am a troll, guys.
> 
> The average chapter length has been building since the first few chapters, but don't be surprised if it starts dropping again. I don't know. What's better: longer chapters or more frequent updates? Not that I really tend to pay much attention to chapter length, I just end them where I feel they should end.
> 
> Also, 19 chapters! 19 is my favourite number. Accordingly, (though coincidentally,) this is one of my favourite chapters so far. :)

**i.**

“At least they let you out to use the bathroom, right?” said Nepeta, once again poisoning the air with her relentless optimism.

“Yeah,” Karkat begrudgingly conceded, shifting the shoulder that he leaned against the bars. “That’s one fucking thing.”

“And!” Nepeta leaned further forward over her knees, “you know they’re planning to send you home once they sort out the truce.” She was crouched in a little ball just outside Karkat’s cell, visiting him as she had every day he’d had been stuck here, bored out of his fucking mind. She was still annoying, yeah, but at least she helped break the mind-numbing monotony of sitting on his ass in a six-by-six foot cell day and night. Her optimism and repetitive attempts to cheer him up were a little grating, but just barely bearable.

“Yeah,” he repeated. “I know, Nepeta: normally they’d send me back to Derse to be tried for higher punishment. I know.”

Nepeta frowned at him and lowered her face, peering at him over her knees. “It shouldn’t be too much longer,” she said.

Karkat laughed—it was a bit of a weak attempt at laughter, actually, but still. “You clearly don’t know a whole fucking lot about politics.”

“That’s not true!” Nepeta protested. “Well… okay, maybe it is. But my meowrail’s on the council, remember? He used to tell me all about how decisions would be made super duper fast once the King suggested a new law or decree or something. Although…” she diverted her gaze to the side, “when I talked to Equius the other night, he said something about the council having a really hard time deciding what stance they want to take on the truce. Especially since the King isn’t areownd.”

Did she seriously just make a cat pun out of the word “around?” Fucking hell.

“Well, there you go,” said Karkat miserably. “It could be another fucking year before I get out of here, and by then both sides will probably be completely overrun by nook-crushing monsters who could hardly care less about our sentient notion of fucking _politics_.” He sighed. “All of this is literally society’s fault. If society didn’t exist, none of this would even matter. We’d just be running around like wild fucking animals, committing savageries to each other and the wildlife in order to ensure the survival of ourselves and no one other than ourselves. Sounds like a whole lot fucking less of a headache than this bullshit!”

Nepeta actually fucking giggled. “That sounds like fun! But… without society there wouldn’t be any quadrants, which would mean no shipping and no meowrails.” Sometimes Karkat had to wonder if Nepeta would really be as sanguine as she was without the pacifying influence of a moirail—even if their only current method of communication was digital.

“God fucking forbid there be no shipping,” Karkat said flatly.

“Do I hear talk of ships?” came the very loud voice of Captain Ampora from just outside the prison tent. The door flap was swept aside, washing the interior with grey sunlight before it dropped shut again. The Captain was wearing his usual haughty, unhappy expression. He looked even more disgruntled than usual, in fact. As he walked briskly down the short ‘corridor’ (could a tent really have a fucking corridor? The whole thing’s made of canvas) he jabbed a finger towards Nepeta. “You. Scram,” he snapped.

Nepeta scrambled to her feet with a scowl, but then turned on a smile as she looked at Karkat again. “I’ll see you later, Karkitty!”

“Yeah, see you,” Karkat mumbled as she scurried away.

Until Nepeta had gone, Ampora stood outside Karkat’s cell staring disdainfully down at him. Karkat stared back, not bothering to stand or salute or anything. Why should he? What was Ampora gonna do; give him demerit points? Oh _no_ , not demerit points! Not a black mark on his flawless military record! Oh, wait.

“Here,” Ampora said after a few moments, handing Karkat a cell-operated comms device through the bars. Then he huffed. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

He strode out again, leaving a mystified Karkat with the comms device.

As soon as he saw the colour of the text on the screen, Karkat took his sweet time scrolling back up and reading through the conversation up until that point.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering caligulasAquarium [CA] \--  
  
TT: We’ve got a problem.  
TT: More specifically, you’ve got a problem.  
CA: youre damn right ivve got a problem  
CA: im out here fightin for our kingdom  
CA: and my fuckin moirail fuckin breaks up wwith me  
CA: cause shes busy bein a fuckin temple apostle or somefin  
TT: Eridan, I honestly don’t care about your personal problems.  
TT: Although this could be considered somewhat of a personal problem, to be honest. But it’s not mine and certainly not yours.  
CA: then wwhy am i supposed to fuckin care  
CA: wwhy do you care  
TT: That’s not important.  
TT: You’ll remember two weeks ago when I asked you to keep an eye out for my brother, yes?  
CA: yeah i remember it  
TT: Good. When you found him, there was someone with him, right? A troll by the name of Karkat Vantas.  
CA: yeah there wwas  
CA: the fuckin traitor  
CA: wwhat a fuckin betrayal you knoww  
CA: meen goes ahead and absolvves him a all his wwrongdoin and he turns out to be a filthy fuckin prospitian snake  
CA: fuckin preposterous  
TT: Yes. Preposterous. So totally unlikely. How dare he be Prospitian.  
CA: i knoww right  
TT: Anyway, where is he now?  
CA: wwhere is he  
CA: hes in the fuckin brig is wwhere he is  
TT: Great.  
TT: I’m going to need you to send him home on the next train back to Derse.  
CA: wwhat  
TT: I’m going to need you to send him home on the next train back to Derse.  
CA: yeah i fuckin heard you the first time  
CA: wwhy though  
TT: For diplomacy’s sake.  
CA: wwhat the fuck  
CA: wwhat does that squirt havve to do wwith diplomacy  
TT: His brother is part of the Prospitian envoy.  
TT: So, no Vantas; no truce. Potentially. It’s as simple as that.  
CA: the next train back isnt until Monday  
CA: theyre biwweekly i thought you wwould knoww that  
TT: I do know that. I’m telling you to put him on the next one, whenever that may be. If the next train back is on Monday, put him on the train on Monday.   
CA: fine  
CA: but meen isnt gonna be happy  
TT: Isn’t she?  
CA: wwell  
CA: maybe   
CA: i dont fuckin knoww do i  
CA: im not her  
TT: Astute observation.  
TT: I need you to do something else for me.  
CA: youre just full a fuckin requests today arent you  
TT: Yes.  
TT: Requests that you are under obligation to follow.  
CA: yeah yeah wwhat else do you wwant  
TT: Give your comms device to Vantas.  
CA: fuckin wwhat  
TT: Are we really doing this again?  
CA: wwhy the fuck wwould i wwant to do that  
CA: and dont say because you told me to do it  
TT: But that’s exactly why.  
TT: And also because his brother much desires to speak with him, and unfortunately I’m at pains to please the older Master Vantas.  
CA: fine ill fuckin do it  
CA: but you owwe me   
TT: Sure.  
TT: I’m handing over the reigns of this conversation, now.  
CA: yeah yeah  
TT: Hell9?  
TT: 9h, h9ld 9n...  
TT: There we g9.  
TT: Karkat??  
CA: yeah yeah im fuckin getting him noww  
TT: Where is he?  
CA: brig  
TT: What!?  
CA: im not fuckin explainin this again  
CA: get him to fuckin tell you   
CA: hes the one wwho got himself into this fuckin situation  
TT: I resent that statement.  
TT: Derse’s idi9tic 6ylaws are what g9t my 6r9ther int9 this situati9n.  
TT: Impris9ning him just 6ecause 9f where he was 69rn is 69th unjust and unfair and highlights s9me seri9us issues pervasive in Dersian military structure and c9nduct.  
CA: holy carp shut the fuck up  
CA: im gettin him okay  
CA: wwhat the fuck else wwere wwe supposed to do  
CA: just send him home  
CA: i mean thats wwhat wwe wwere plannin to do once the truce wwas made i guess  
CA: but still  
CA: wwe wwent fuckin easy on him in my opinion  
TT: I didn’t ask f9r y9ur 9pini9n.  
CA: yeah and no one asked for yours either   
TT: Even s9, I was merely highlighting s9mething y9u might n9t have 6een aware 9f. S9mething that y9u might claim n9t t9 care a69ut, 6ut n9t caring a69ut it is an issue in and 9f itself, 6ecause as a Dersian, y9u sh9uld care. Y9u sh9uld care a69ut the state 9f y9ur 9wn kingd9m.  
TT: There have 6een s9me seri9us damages d9ne 6y y9ur l9ng-a6sc9nded, likely permanently a6sent King. With this truce we are neg9tiating, we h9pe t9 start reversing and repairing s9me 9f this damage.   
TT: H9wever, this endeav9ur will pr9ve t9 6e entirely f9r naught if Derse’s 9wn pe9ple – particularly significant figures such as military 9fficials – are stu669rnly l9cking themselves within a 6u66le 9f misplaced fealty t9 perhaps the m9st pr96lematic King either kingd9m has ever enc9untered in their l9ng and tur6ulent hist9ries.  
TT: ...Hell9?  
TT: Are y9u still there?  
TT: Y9u sh9uld 6e paying cl9se attenti9n t9 this. It’s imp9rtant f9r y9u t9 understand.  
TT: ...Karkat?  
CA: WOW, YOU REALLY KNOW HOW TO DRIVE THEM OFF.  
CA: DO YOU THINK HE WAS PAYING ATTENTION TO ANY OF THAT?  
CA: DO YOU HONESTLY THINK ANYONE *EVER* PAYS ATTENTION??  
TT: Karkat.  
TT: That’s 9ne heck 9f a way t9 greet me after nearly three weeks.  
CA: I REALLY DON’T FUCKING CARE.  
CA: I APPRECIATE THE BID TO FREE ME FROM THIS HELLHOLE, BUT IF YOU’RE PLANNING TO GO OFF AT ME ABOUT WHATEVER THE FUCK, TELLING ME THE VARIOUS WAYS IN WHICH I’VE FUCKED UP AND HOW I SHOULD BE EMPLOYING THIS OR THAT TACTIC IN ORDER TO BETTER MYSELF AND PREVENT THIS SORT OF SHITFUCK BULLSHITTERY FROM EVER HAPPENING AGAIN, YOU CAN JUST GO FUCK YOURSELF, PLEASE.  
TT: Karkat, I understand that y9u’re upset.  
TT: But, um... 6ef9re we c9ntinue, w9uld y9u mind changing t9 y9ur usual c9l9ur?  
CA: ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?  
CA: FINE.  
CA: IS THIS BETTER??  
CA: SHOULD I MAYBE FUCK UP AMPORA’S COMMS DEVICE BY LOGGING INTO MY OWN ACCOUNT WHILE I’M AT IT???  
CA: I’M SURPRISED YOU HAVEN’T DONE THE SAME THING WITH WHATEVER THE PRINCE FUCKING REGENT USES PESTERCHUM ON.  
TT: Karkat, please! I’m n9t trying t9 start an argument with y9u. In fact... I wanted t9 d9 the 9pp9site.  
CA: WHAT THE FUCK EVEN IS THE OPPOSITE OF AN ARGUMENT?  
CA: A REASONABLE DEBATE??  
CA: SURE OKAY I’M SO TOTALLY UP FOR ONE OF THOSE!  
CA: WE CAN DISCUSS ALL THE CREATIVE WAYS IN WHICH I CONTINUALLY FUCK MYSELF OVER, AND WHY OR WHY NOT THIS PARTICULAR INCIDENT COMPLETELY CRUSHES THE SHIT-REEKING PILE OF PREVIOUS FUCK-UPS.  
CA: WHAT’S THE MOST RECENT DEVELOPMENT ON THE KARKAT VANTAS “YOU FUCKED UP” BULLETIN BOARD? OH, JOY! IMPRISONMENT! MORE TIGHTLY LOCKED UP THAN THE CROWN FUCKING JEWELS OF DERSE!!  
CA: YOU’RE IN DERSE RIGHT NOW, RIGHT KANKRI? HAVE YOU GOTTEN A GLIMPSE AT THE CROWN JEWELS YET?  
CA: OH, FUCK ME THAT SOUNDS SO FUCKING WRONG.  
CA: I DIDN’T MEAN THAT IN A VOYEURISTIC OR PERVERTED SENSE.  
CA: YOU SEE, THERE I GO AGAIN! FUCKING THINGS UP!  
TT: Karkat, st9p!!  
TT: Quite frankly, y9ur lack 9f self esteem is distur6ing t9 me. This wh9le 9rdeal has clearly had m9re 9f an adverse affect 9n y9ur psyche than y9u w9uld ever 6e willing t9 admit.  
TT: Which is why I wanted t9 ap9l9gise.  
CA: OH, YES, MY PSYCHE IS JUST—  
CA: WHAT.  
TT: There are times when it is necessary f9r me t9 simply suspend my pride, which, t9 6e c9mpletely candid, may at times 69rder 9n arr9gance.  
CA: YOU DON’T SAY.  
TT: This is 9ne 9f th9se times when I simply need t9 admit that I may have acted in a way which had a directly negative effect 9n s9me9ne I care a69ut.  
TT: In this case, that s9me9ne is y9u.   
TT: S9, Karkat,   
TT: I’m s9rry.  
CA: ...  
CA: WELL NOW I JUST FEEL LIKE A FUCKING ASSHOLE FOR GOING OFF AT YOU LIKE THAT.  
CA: I GUESS I’M... PRETTY STRESSED OUT.  
CA: SUPER FUCKING STRESSED OUT, ACTUALLY.  
CA: SITTING IN A CELL IS MORE STRESSFUL THAN IT LOOKS.  
CA: NOT AS STRESSFUL AS FIGHTING DEMONS, BUT,  
CA: FUCKING WHATEVER.  
TT: D9 y9u accept my ap9l9gy, then?  
CA: YEAH.  
CA: I MEAN...  
CA: IT WASN’T YOUR FAULT.  
CA: ME RUNNING AWAY, I MEAN.  
CA: WELL, MAYBE A LITTLE BIT YOUR FAULT.  
CA: BUT IT WAS MOSTLY JUST ME AND MY OWN FUCKED UP TENDENCY TO BLOW EVERYTHING UP TO BE A MUCH BIGGER FUCKING ISSUE THAN IT ACTUALLY IS.  
CA: SO IF YOU WERE WORRIED, I’M SORRY.  
TT: 9f c9urse I was w9rried!  
TT: Why else w9uld I have practically t9rn d9wn Derse Palace trying t9 find s9me sliver 9f a hint as t9 whether 9r n9t y9u’d 6een captured and sent t9 Skaia?  
CA: ...YOU COULDN’T HAVE JUST ASKED?  
TT: In retr9spect, I sh9uld have just asked.  
TT: 6ut. All’s well that ends well, is it n9t?  
CA: UHH.  
CA: SURE.  
CA: SO...  
CA: I’M FINALLY GETTING OUT OF HERE?  
TT: Yes. Fr9m what I read earlier in this chat l9g, the next train 6ack t9 Derse is 9n M9nday.  
TT: S9 y9u just have t9 endure this weekend’s w9rth 9f further impris9nment, then y9u’ll 6e free.   
CA: WHY COULDN’T THEY JUST SEND ME ACROSS TO PROSPIT’S SIDE?  
TT: Semantic details, I assume. The fact that there is n9t yet a truce, merely a ceasefire.  
TT: N9t t9 menti9n, after everything, I’d rather have y9u here with me f9r the time 6eing.  
CA: WHAT, TO MAKE SURE I DON’T GO RUNNING OFF AGAIN?  
TT: N9!  
TT: ...May6e.  
TT: T9 keep an eye 9n y9u, at the very least.  
TT: 6esides, if y9u were s9 desperate t9 get away fr9m Pr9spit in the first place, perhaps s9me time in a less h9stile envir9nment away fr9m Pr9spit will actually d9 y9u g99d.  
TT: Pers9nally, Derse isn’t really t9 my tastes, 6ut given that y9u and I have 9ften 6een 9f very different persuasi9ns, y9u may actually enj9y it.  
CA: I FUCKING DOUBT IT.  
CA: BUT WHO KNOWS, MAYBE I’LL END UP LIKING IT JUST TO BE FUCKING CONTRARY.  
CA: AS LONG AS I CAN BE AWAY FROM *THIS* HELLHOLE. I THOUGHT I WANTED TO BE HERE, BUT I’VE JUST...  
CA: I’VE HAD ENOUGH.  
TT: I understand.  
TT: Hey. May6e y9u’ll d9 a 6etter j96 making friends here than what I’ve seemed t9, s9 far.   
TT: As I understand it, y9u already have.  
CA: UGH.  
CA: HE WAS THE ONE WHO TOLD YOU, WASN’T HE?  
TT: In a manner 9f speaking.  
CA: I WOULDN’T HAVE EVEN FUCKING GONE NEAR HIM IF I KNEW HE WAS ROYALTY.  
CA: ANYWAY,  
CA: AMPORA WANTS HIS COMMS DEVICE BACK.  
CA: HE’S PROBABLY GOING TO READ THIS ENTIRE CONVERSATION.  
CA: SO: FUCK YOU AMPORA.  
CA: KANKRI, I... GUESS I’LL SEE YOU ON MONDAY.  
TT: I guess I will.  
TT: I’m... l99king f9rward t9 it.  
CA: YEAH.  
CA: ...  
CA: SAME **.**  
  
\--  caligulasAquarium [CA] ceased trolling timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

 

**ii.**

Dave was sitting cross-legged at the end of his bed, heavy grey curtains drawn, lights on their second-dimmest setting, turning his shades over in his hands when there came a soft knock at the door.

“What,” he called tonelessly.

The door opened slowly, and Rose stepped into the room, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. They stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment.

“Sup,” Dave finally said.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you without your shades,” she commented.

Dave glanced down at the sunglasses in his hands. “The arm hinges are a little loose,” he explained. “I guess they’ve taken almost as much of a beating as I have, recently.”

Rose frowned. “I guess so.” She stepped further into the room, gently pushing the door closed behind her. “Dirk led me to believe that something terrible had happened,” she said, “But you seem… okay.” She shrugged. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Dave answered, “I am.”

“So, you… went to see the Witch?”

“Yep. And I acquired all the knowledge of the universe. Looks like you were right, huh?”

“Being right isn’t an inherently good thing,” Rose admitted quietly. “I… I didn’t think about what effect talking to her might have on you, or consider that she might actually desire to _hurt_ you in any way…”

“No, I guess you didn’t,” Dave said, “probably too busy looking towards The Greater Good, am I right? Blinded by _the Light_ , you could say?”

It was almost satisfying, in a sort of shameful way, to see how Rose’s cheeks coloured. “I’ve told you before, it’s—”

She was interrupted by another knock at the door.

“Come in,” called Dave before Rose could say anything.

The door opened again, to reveal a very wide-eyed John, who proceeded to stand in the doorway looking back and forth between Dave and Rose. “Uh… I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

“What the fuck did Dirk even tell you?” Dave wondered.

John shrugged. “Just that you were ill. And then that you weren’t really ill, just tired. I have the feeling he only said you were ill to deflect questions.” Yeah, that pretty much sounded like a Dirk thing to do.

“Which is totally a green light for everyone-go-bother-him, right?”

“Sorry, I can… come back later.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” said Dave. “I’m up for trio pal-time, how about you, Rose?”

 “I’m afraid I have business to attend to,” Rose said stiffly. “I merely wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Okay. See you later, then.”

“See you.”

And Rose left, brushing past a very bemused-looking John on her way.

“Um… I still feel like I interrupted something,” John commented.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Dave assured him. He waved his shades. “Do you happen to have a tiny screwdriver on you?”

John looked taken aback. “No?”

“Well, fuck.”

“Why?”

“My shades are broken. Well, almost.”

“Oh!” John laughed. “Well, if you can’t fix them, I can always buy you another pair.”

Dave smirked. “Sweet.”

 

Given everything that had happened that day, Dave hadn’t expected to be able to sleep very easily. He’d felt better for a little while after leaving the basement, but as soon as he’d reached his quarters, the reality of everything had come crashing down around his ears once again. The Witch. The prophecy. Knight of Time—what did that _mean_? Was it some sort of class no one had ever heard of? Was Dave eventually going to be able to _control_ the freaky Time shit that had been happening around him? Honestly, he didn’t know how he felt about that idea. He didn’t really want any kind of powers. For one, they seemed like way too much of a fucking hassle, and two, he didn’t want to be changed by them. He’d heard many a story of people being driven mad by their aspect: either mad with power or just plain mad. Neither option was particularly appealing. Then there was the way Rose always seemed so… _preoccupied_ with her Seer stuff, as if her powers were constantly demanding her full attention. Fuck, thinking about it that way, Dave felt awful for blowing her off earlier.

Yeah. He had a lot to think about. He’d been grateful to have someone to shoot the shit with for a while, just as a distraction—John had told him all about Kankri’s bitchfit and the following resolution that had been reached.

“So he pretty much got today’s meeting cancelled over fuck all.” Dave summarised.

“Pretty much,” John confirmed.

“That’s fucking hilarious.”

But there was a lot to be said for total and utter mental, physical, emotional exhaustion. Once John had left, Dave had flopped down on top of his bedcovers and, not long after, zonked the fuck out. He awoke a few hours later, shivering slightly from the cold. The daylight that had previously been fighting its way in from behind the curtains was gone. On the pillow, right under his cheek, was a lukewarm damp patch.

Dave Strider, Prince of Derse. Drools in sleep. Classy as fuck.

He checked the time on his circlet—which somehow had remained on his head, though slightly skewed. 21:48. Well, fuck, that had been a long nap.

Sitting up, Dave yawned and removed the circlet, setting it down on the bedside table. May as well just… go back to sleep. Right? Right. The lights were still on, that one bulb on the chandelier flickering annoyingly, so after prying his jeans off and climbing under the covers (and turning over the pillow), he turned it off with the bedside controls, plummeting the room into complete darkness. After shifting around a bit to get comfortable, Dave easily fell asleep again.

That’s not to say that he slept so easily, this time.

It can be hard to describe the nature of a nightmare; difficult to pin down exactly what was so terrifying about it, or even _why_ it was so terrifying. In Dave’s experience, most of his nightmares were just plain fucking dumb once he woke up and actually thought about them.

He wasn’t going to recall all that much from this one once he woke up, beyond the all-encompassing feelings of deep-set terror and frantic desperation. He was being chased down a dimly-lit corridor, and he couldn’t see because he had his shades on, but when he tried to take them off they wouldn’t budge, as if they were glued to his face. So he just kept sprinting forwards, hoping against hope that he didn’t run straight into a wall.

Then he heard a voice behind him: _“Turn back.”_ He skidded to a stop and whipped around. His shades cracked, shattered, and fell away from his face in a rain of tinted glass. He looked down. The glass was melting, turning to blood, soaking his shoes and the ground under his feet in a crimson so red it seemed to break the spectrum.

_“Go back.”_

He looked up. He was standing in the centre of an arena, an expansive colosseum. Staring down upon him were hundreds upon thousands of eyeless faces. Every seat was filled; the show sold out.

_“Turn back,”_ they said as one. _“Go back. You have to go back. Go back. Go back. Go back.”_ They kept chanting, louder and louder, faster and faster and increasingly discordant as they fell out of sync with each other. The blood at Dave’s feet soaked deeper into the dirt, spreading away from him—the centre point.

“Stop!” he shouted, holding up a hand. They stopped. Everything stopped, froze in Time, exactly the way he’d intended.

Excepting, of course, the blood on the ground. It continued to spread, increasing its pace as if running away from Dave, running in every direction. “Stop,” he insisted. It did not stop. “Stop!” It continued. “I told you to fucking _stop_!”

It reached the eyeless faces, casting them in red and unpausing them. _“Go back. Go back. Go back,_ ” they chanted once again, as row by row they were brought back to life, shining red so bright it hurt his eyes.

“STOP!” Dave yelled again, to no effect, covering his ears. “Stop, stop, stop!”

_“Go back. Go back. Go back.”_

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, _stop!!_ ”

_“Go back. Go back. Go back.”_

He woke up shivering again, hot and cold at the same time. He couldn’t remember much other than the terror and the blood and the eyeless faces yelling something at him, but he figured it must have been pretty bad for him to have rolled around so much; normally he slept like a fucking rock, but right now he was on the complete opposite side of the unnecessarily massive bed from where he’d fallen asleep.

It was still dark, but he didn’t much feel like going back to sleep after that, so he sat up and reached for the light controls on this side of the bed. The shitty chandelier flickered to life at its lowest setting, the problem bulb sputtering and blinking worse than ever. He really needed to get that fixed because holy fuck it was annoying.

His head immediately snapped towards the sound of the covers rustling next to him, only to see—

“What the _fuck_.”

—himself.

He clapped a hand to his mouth. His doppelgänger was still asleep, and holy fuck the last thing Dave wanted was to be faced with an awake second version of himself. If this wasn’t just some sort of… imposter. In his bed. Right now.

His breaths quickened exponentially. He wasn’t sure what would be more terrifying; facing himself or facing an imitation. Although, was a double not by nature an imitation? Or, even more terrifying, was _this_ the real Dave, and was _he_ the double, the clone, the simulacrum? The imitation?

_I have to still be fucking dreaming_. Maybe it was like one of those dream-within-a-dream things. Yeah, dream layers! He was pretty sure they’d made a motion picture about that sort of thing once, right? What was that called? For the life of him, in his disordered, panicked state, he couldn’t recall.

But you can’t feel pain in dreams, as Roxy had so astutely pointed out on his first day in the palace, and the sharp-edged ache starting to worm its way into Dave’s head was definitely painful. Which meant he wasn’t dreaming. Unless this was just… a really, _really_ vivid dream, and the pain, too, was completely imagined.

Slowly, without taking his eyes off his double, he stood up out of the bed. For something to do, more than anything else—because what else _could_ he do? Sit there until he—the other him—woke up, and then… what? They’d both flip the fuck out together? That was a horrible idea. If there was something he hated worse than this _fucking situation_ and the way he was freaking out about it right now, it was the idea of having to _literally watch himself_ freak out about this very same situation, whilst also being watched freak out by himself, who would naturally also hate seeing himself freak out whilst being seen freaking out by himself.

It was a _seriously fucking fucked up situation_ and thinking about it in that way wasn’t helping his heart to beat any more softly; his breaths to come any more regularly. Quite the fucking opposite, in fact.

He made his way around the bed, treading cautiously and keeping his eyes on himself. His other self. There was another option he hadn’t entertained yet—that maybe he was just hallucinating. Maybe, after everything that had been happening lately, and everything that he’d been torturing himself with in his own mind, he’d straight-up just lost it. And now he was seeing things that weren’t there.

For some fucked up reason, that thought was _comforting_. Any explanation that meant he wasn’t facing his literal self was comforting. Even if it meant he was insane.

Dave reached the end of the bed just as his other self shifted and rolled over, rolling right into the space that the Dave standing at the end of the bed had previously been occupying.

Then the thought occurred to him: _what if this was some Time shit?_

But _that_ idea wasn’t comforting, after all the time he’d spent last night desperately hoping that it was all just some trick and now that he’d gone and somehow given the Witch what she wanted, it would all stop. That “Knight of Time” was just something she was calling him to fuck with his head, or something.

He took a few steps back, towards the centre of the room. From here, the him in the bed could be anyone. Any scrawny teenager, asleep in a bed that was way too big for him, under sheets that were way too lavish and expensive, in a room that was far too capacious and luxurious, with a fucking _chandelier_ that spontaneously creaked just as a light breeze blew in from the open window behind the curtains.

Dave looked up. The chandelier creaked again, that lightbulb flickering sporadically. Again, it creaked. Then, it groaned, long and strident, and before Dave could realise that he needed to—

He woke up shivering again, hot and cold at the same time. He was pretty sure he’d been in the middle of some nightmare, but he couldn’t remember much other than the terror and the blood and the eyeless faces yelling something at him. He felt the strangest sense of incompletion, as if the nightmare had been cut off somehow, by something. Regardless, it must have been pretty bad for him to have rolled around so much; normally he slept like a fucking rock, but right now he was on the complete opposite side of the unnecessarily massive bed from where he’d fallen asleep.

Slowly, he noticed that some of his lights were still on. Funny. He was sure he’d turned them off last night. They were even dimmer than he recalled, so maybe he’d accidentally just turned them to an even lower setting he hadn’t realised existed. Either way, he didn’t much feel like going back to sleep after that, so he sat up.

First, he noticed the chandelier, lying off-kilter on the floor, every one of its many tiny lightbulbs shattered.

Then he noticed the blood seeping into the carpet. Then he recognised the mangled body.

CA: I’VE HAD ENOUGH.


	20. Convincing Ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Why was_ he _being called upon to do all the familial pacification today? He was probably the worst person for the job. Unfortunately, who he would have picked as the_ best _person for the job was currently squeezing him like a tube of toothpaste._

**i.**

“I’m just worried I might have pushed too far,” Rose was saying. She was currently employing Dirk’s tactic of pacing, up and down in front of the sitting room door. Dirk himself was slumped in the two-seater facing the door, and Kanaya was seated elegantly to one side of the three-seater.

Dirk sighed. “I’m definitely not the best person to be giving advice about interpersonal problems,” he disclaimed, “but if Dave’s anything like Roxy—which I suspect he is—he’ll forget about it in a day or so. Or, rather, he’ll just pretend nothing ever happened.”

“But that’s precisely the problem,” Rose insisted, “he pretends like everything is fine when it isn’t, and then when the problem inevitably rises back to the surface, it’s worse for the both of us. But he’s not going to want to talk it through with me. Especially not right now. Even on a _good_ day, whatever that might constitute, he shuts down when I try to approach a subject he isn’t comfortable discussing.”

“It seems to me like you’re overthinking the situation,” Kanaya observed.

Rose frowned, and perched on the arm of the loveseat opposite Dirk. “Probably.”

“Perhaps you should start by apologising,” Kanaya suggested. “Even if you feel you haven’t done anything particularly wrong, it ought to make him more receptive to whatever else you might follow up with.”

“Well, I’d _intended_ to apologise earlier,” Rose explained, “but he didn’t seem to want to hear it. It didn’t really help that John showed up right as I— No. It’s not John’s fault.”

“I still think you should just give him some space,” said Dirk, remembering his and Dave’s pesterchum conversation that morning. “Some time to learn to rely on people other than you. Hopefully having his memories back will help with that.”

Rose’s frown deepened. “That’s another thing I want to talk to him about,” she admitted.

They lapsed into silence, with neither Dirk nor Kanaya really knowing what else to say that hadn’t already been said. Rose was a hard person to give advice to, because she always had a counter-argument as to why every suggestion might not be such a great idea. Which was kind of annoying, but Dirk thought he probably did exactly the same thing. He had the feeling that Rose was more just trying to vent; to bounce her frustrations off someone else. In the end, she likely wouldn’t take anyone’s advice but her own.

“So, you haven’t seen Roxy at all today?” Dirk asked, to change the subject—and because he was genuinely curious and a little worried.

“No,” Rose answered, and there was concern evident in her voice, too. “I’ve been thinking of going to see her, but I’ve been preoccupied—what time is it?”

“Quarter past eleven,” Kanaya answered smoothly.

Rose bit her lip. “It’s late already.”

Dirk stood. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll go check on her. She probably just had a fight with her paramour or something.” He sighed. “She always gets like this.”

“I wish you luck, then,” Rose said solemnly.

 

Roxy answered on the second knock, cracking the door open only slightly and peering out at Dirk—literally squinting; the lights in the hall were on a brighter setting than what she had her bedroom lights on, and while she didn’t quite have the same level of photophobia as Dave or even Dirk, her penchant for excessive alcohol consumption meant she was often as averse to bright lighting as her brothers. Fitting, really, that the only Strider-Lalonde who could stand to be in brightly-lit spaces without shielded eyes was a hero of Light. And ironic that Rose wore the most black out of any of them.

In any case, Roxy definitely looked as if she hadn’t been planning to show her face in any other part of the palace for at least another day: her hair was un-brushed and messy and lacking the adornment of her circlet (which explained why she hadn’t been answering any messages); her lower eyelids were stained dark grey from leftover eyeliner not properly removed, but the rest of her face was bare. Even if it _was_ approaching midnight, Dirk had never known Roxy to let her appearance fall into even this level of disrepair. Unless…

“He broke up with me,” she said, before Dirk could so much as say “hi.” “You can fire him now, if you want.” Her words were ever-so-slightly slurred, the way they were pretty much perpetually.

“Do _you_ want me to fire him?” Dirk asked.

Roxy shrugged.

“Can I come in?”

She shrugged again, but stood back from the door, giving Dirk enough space to squeeze in and shut the door behind him. As soon as he did, Roxy wormed her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest.

“I didn’t know you liked him so much,” he commented, gently rubbing her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Man, why was _he_ being called upon to do all the familial pacification today? He was probably _the_ worst person for the job. Unfortunately, who he would have picked as the _best_ person for the job was currently squeezing him like a tube of toothpaste.

“I didn’t,” she mumbled. “Not really. It’s just… he said some things. And I guess they got to me. Because they were true.”

“What things?”

Again, she shrugged. “Things,” she said miserably into his shirt. She tucked her chin, head-butting his clavicle with the crown of her forehead. “It’s like Dave said: we’re all just as fucked up as each other.”

“I don’t think it helps if we’re continually convincing ourselves of it,” Dirk said.

“But it’s true.”

“Oh, absolutely, but admitting it is almost like resigning ourselves to it.” Not that he really believed there was anything they could do to change it. At least not in his case—he still had hope for the others, partially out of fraternal obligation.

Roxy pulled away, rubbing at her eyes. “That was almost optimistic of you,” she commented with the slightest of smirks.

“I try,” Dirk said. “You wouldn’t know it, but I do try.”

She giggled softly, crossing to the unmade bed and flopping onto her back. He followed, perching at the end, watching her. For once, the liquor bottles were in full view on her bedside tables. Normally she hid them, maybe in an attempt to make it seem like she didn’t drink as much as she really did, but today the gin, the vodka, the wine, and the tequila were all out to play. Along with several empty and half-empty glasses. It almost looked as if she’d thrown a small house party in here, except for the fact that the room was fairly tidy.

“I feel bad about skipping the meeting,” Roxy said, after a minute or so of staring up at the canopy over her bed. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Dirk assured her. “Well, you did, but not in the way of negotiations.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Do tell, oh Prince Regent.”

So he told her about everything that had happened that day, from Dave going to see the Witch to Kankri throwing a hissy fit in plain view of literally everyone and anyone in the palace. She sat up, wide-eyed, when he mentioned that Dave had his memories back.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “He can prove it and everything.”

“Oh my _god,_ I have to go see him!” She made to get up.

Dirk grabbed her arm. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I think we should probably let him rest for now.”

Roxy grimaced apologetically. “Yeah. Okay. Probably.” She grinned, looking more like her usual self. “I can’t _believe_ it, though. That’s awesome! I mean, it’s not awesome that he got hurt, of course, but I’m glad he remembers.”

“It guess it changes things a little, huh?”

“A little! Hey, speaking of things changing…” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. Fuck. He knew where this was going. “Are you gonna dish out all the deets about what happened last night that had you so riled up and pace-y? Something to do with… the rugged Mr. English?”

“That was the worst segue ever,” he informed her. “Whatever might have happened between me and Jake doesn’t change anything.”

“Au contraire, Dirk. I think something happening between you and Jake would probably change things between you and Jake.”

She had a point. He rolled his eyes… even though he was wearing his shades and she wouldn’t be able to see. “He’s engaged, Roxy. To our friend.”

Roxy made a face. “Hey, I’m already conflicted enough about which of you to root for, you don’t need to remind me, thanks.”

Dirk sighed. “It’s best if we both just pretend nothing ever happened. The situation is difficult enough without introducing some fucked up Romeo and Juliet scenario.”

“I think you mean Romeo and Juli _en_ , since you’re both dudes,” Roxy corrected him. “Which would make Janey Paris. And… also Tybalt, since she and Jake are cousins. Ooh, yeah, I’m really glad we don’t do the cousin thing in Derse. Although, in your case it wouldn’t be _such_ a bad thing? Because is incest really so bad if it’s between two dudes and there’s no means of procreation?”

“Uh.” Dirk blinked. “First of all, that’s fucking gross. Second of all, we don’t have any cousins. So.”

“Yeah, but if we did…”

“Rox.”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” she giggled. “ _Anyway_ , what actually _did_ happen between you and Jake?”

Dirk raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you _think_ happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know… maybe a little bit of a… smoochy smooch?” She made an exaggerated kissy face.

He just stared at her.

She grinned. “I’m right on the money, aren’t I?”

He continued to do naught but stare.

“Knew it.”

 

By the time Dirk left Roxy’s quarters, midnight had come and gone and the automatic hallway lights had switched onto their lowest setting. He climbed the stairs in semi-darkness, his shades hooked in the collar of his shirt, quietly contemplating and trying not to contemplate… well, everything. Even without any negotiations, today had been one heck of a day—really, if he’d had negotiations fresh in his mind on top of everything else, he was quite certain he would have mentally imploded.

He had trouble admitting it, even to himself, but there were times—especially times like this, when the light was low and the windows pitch black and the palace hushed—when it all felt like… too much. It was a hard feeling to describe, this sense of a great looming _fog_ hanging above and behind him, waiting for the slightest falter, the slightest _waver_ in his defence…

The state of the entire kingdom—the whole _world_ —could be described that way, he knew. But to Dirk it also felt more personal than that.

So lost in thought was he, that when he was finally approaching his own quarters (his feet controlled by some sort of autopilot), it took him a moment to notice the figure sitting beside his door.

He stopped.

Noticing him, Jake scrambled up, eyes wide and earnest, nervously clasping his elbows.

“Dirk,” he said. “I’m sorry for the late hour. I wanted to— to talk.”

Dirk blinked, suddenly feeling naked without his shades. “Sure.”

He opened the door and let Jake enter before him. He stepped over the threshold. He closed the door behind him.

“So, er…” Jake began. He was hovering just barely inside the actual room, just a few feet in front of where Dirk stood in front of the door. Maybe closing the door was a bad idea. Fuck. “Last night…”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Dirk said quickly. “I shouldn’t have… done what I did. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Neither of us need that kind of thing complicating our lives right now, I know. So. It’s fine.”

Jake’s brow furrowed very slowly, his eyebrows reaching for each other in slow motion. “That wasn’t… Erm…” He swallowed. “I didn’t— I wanted to— Oh, fucking bollocks, Strider.” He met Dirk’s eyes. “That wasn’t at all what I meant.”

Spontaneously, Dirk was hard-pressed to get a decent lungful of air. “Then what did you mean?”

Jake bit his lip. Looked away. Looked back.

In the next second, there were hands on Dirk’s shoulders, pushing him back against the door, as a slightly aggressive pair of lips crashed into his own.

Oh. _Oh._

Somehow, Dirk hadn’t actually considered that Jake would actually… Ah, whatever. He responded immediately, his hands coming up to rest on either side of Jake’s waist. He let Jake take the lead on the actual kissing, and though it was a little sloppy and overeager, his tongue darting in and out here and there, it was still just… _nice_. Somewhere in the back of Dirk’s mind, as one of Jake’s hands drifted up the side of his neck, rang the partly triumphant, partly nail-bitingly complicated implications of _what_ _this actually meant_ , but for the most part Dirk just wanted to lose himself in Jake’s presence, to imagine that there was nothing in the world but the two of them. And maybe, for the briefest moment, that was true.

A shattering crash echoed through the palace.

Jake’s lips broke away from his and for a moment they just stared at each other, wide-eyed and pink-faced and out of breath.

“What was that?” Jake whispered.

“I… don’t know,” Dirk replied, his brain desperately trying to catch up with events.

“It sounded like it came from down the hall,” said Jake.

Dirk nodded minutely. It had. In fact, it sounded like it had come from…

“Dave’s room,” he said, suddenly feeling cold all over, a stark contrast to the heat of mere seconds ago.

He groped behind him for the doorknob. When he found it, they both tumbled out into the hallway. Dirk recovered quickly and took off at a run down the hall, Jake yelling something behind him. He skidded to a stop in front of Dave’s door, pausing for only the briefest moment before throwing it open.

In what little light there was, the first thing Dirk’s eyes fell on was Dave, sat up in bed, staring blankly at…

“Oh my fucking god,” muttered Jake behind him as he caught up with Dirk. The last part of the phrase was muffled as both hands came up to cover his mouth.

Dirk forced his gaze away from the… from the mess on the floor, and focussed on the _alive and well_ (hopefully, please, fuck) Dave, zoned out on the bed. He approached slowly.

“Dave?”

“Yeah,” Dave responded, still not taking his eyes off the unreal amount of blood soaking into the carpet.

“Are you okay?”

No answer. Alright. Could probably take that as a “fuck no, you idiot, what does it look like?” but it was worth asking. Dirk sat cautiously on the side of Dave’s bed.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked.

“No,” said Dave. “Yes. Maybe. Fuck, I— I don’t know.” He was trembling, Dirk noticed, his hands clenched in the bedspread as if for balance.

Dirk moved further into Dave’s line of sight, cautiously putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t look,” he said. “Dave. Look at me.”

“This has to be something to do with that fucking Witch,” Dave breathed. “I don’t know what I did, but she really has it out for me.”

“Dave,” Dirk repeated more insistently, moving further still in front of Dave. “Just don’t look. Okay? If we don’t look, it isn’t there.”

Dave looked at him, and it registered somewhere in Dirk’s mind that this was his first time seeing Dave’s eyes in twelve years. The difference, even in the low light, and especially in that moment, was nothing short of heart-breaking.

“If we don’t look, it isn’t there,” Dave parroted in a whisper. “That’s what you told me whenever Rose convinced me there was a vampire in our closet.”

Dirk smiled. “Yeah. I guess it is.” He patted Dave’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Dave bit his lip, but nodded all the same and made to stand. Dirk stood, too, and kept a hand hovering near Dave’s shoulder, just in case. He also made a point to keep himself between Dave and the gruesome scene in the centre of the room.

As soon as they were out in the hall, Dirk shut the door firmly behind them. Jake, standing there looking… well, quite distressed, caught Dirk’s eye and hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Should I…?”

Dirk shook his head tightly. “No. Stay.” He put a hand between Dave’s shoulder blades, leading him gently down the hall. “Come on,” he said, “you can stay in my quarters until we…”

“Clean up?” Dave said, looking at him sharply out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah.” Dirk frowned. “Pretty much.”

When they reached Dirk’s quarters, Dave wordlessly crossed the room and sat down on Dirk’s bed, staring blankly down at his feet. His hands were still shaking.

“Is he… alright?” Jake asked quietly.

“We’ll find out,” Dirk said. “I need you to keep an eye on him for me.”

“What?”

“Just for a bit.”

“Oh… well, okay. Sure. Anything I can do to help, I suppose.”

“Thanks, Jake.” He turned and spoke at normal volume. “Dave? I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Sure,” said Dave, without looking up.

Dirk honestly couldn’t tell if Dave was in some sort of state of shock or not. He seemed _lucid_ , and he didn’t appear to be in any overt distress, but everything was just slightly… off, in a way which was probably even more concerning and frightening than if he’d been in complete freak-out mode, because at least Dirk sort of knew how to deal with that. This was something else entirely. It was disconcerting.

Then there was the matter of his _own_ feelings towards what he’d seen in Dave’s quarters.

Best not to go there.

Maybe he understood how Dave felt better than he thought.

 

**ii.**

Rose was just about to put down her book and go to sleep when there came an urgent knocking at the door to her quarters. She wrapped herself in a dressing gown and opened the door to see a rather tense-looking Dirk.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

“Probably not,” Dirk said. “Can I come in? It’ll only be a moment.”

“Of course.” Rose stood aside to let Dirk enter. He immediately started pacing in front of the window.

“Is there anything in your Sight about… _doubles_ , or clones, or anything like that?”

Rose blinked. “If there is, I have no way of differentiating between them. Why?”

Dirk stopped. “Do you think Time powers could create doubles?”

“I believe so, yes. I’m not really the person to be asking about Time-related intricacies, Dirk, what’s going on?”

“Dave thinks the Witch is still messing with him, but I think he might just be trying to deny the other much more likely possibility.” He looked Rose right in the eye. “Did you know?”

She hesitated, frowning. Dully, she was aware of her heart beating with uncomfortable force in her chest. “I had an inkling,” she admitted, “and I know you’re wondering why I never told him, but do you really think he would even _want_ to believe me?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Dirk said, folding his arms tightly. “He doesn’t want to believe it.”

Rose scrutinised his face; the waves of tension rolling off of him were practically visible to the naked eye. “What happened, Dirk?”

He sighed. “Don’t go into Dave’s room for a while, okay?” he said. “Dave’s alright. At least, _one_ of him is.”

Her heart veritably dropped straight into her stomach. “Where is he?”

“My quarters. Jake’s keeping an eye on him.”

Rose nodded, and left the room without a further word.

Several floors up, hugging the fleece of her dressing gown closer for warmth against the chill of the palace corridors, slightly out of breath, Rose hurried towards the door of Dirk’s quarters. She paused outside Dave’s door, tempted by a sick force resembling _l’appel du vide_ to toss aside Dirk’s warning and go in there anyway, just to _see_ , to _see_ how bad it really was, and to observe her own reactions to seeing…

To seeing…

She shook herself and hurried on.

Jake let her in, looking frazzled, and as soon as her eyes fell on Dave something in her chest palpably unclenched.

“Dave,” she breathed. He looked up, crimson eyes blank. She crossed the room and sat down beside him. “What happened?”

Dave shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I woke up to see my own dead body on the floor. Crushed by a fuckin’ chandelier. How unlikely is that?” he laughed bitterly.

Rose reached down and took his hand in both of hers. To her relief, he let her.

“I don’t want to hear about prophecies or aspects or powers right now,” Dave warned her. “I just… I don’t.”

“That’s okay,” she said, “I wasn’t going to say a word.”

He nodded. For a moment they sat there silently, Rose gently running a thumb over the back of Dave’s hand.

“After seeing that,” Dave said, staring down at their intertwined hands. “I can’t tell if I’m even me. Isn’t that fucking ridiculous?”

Rose let go of his hand and gently pulled his head to her shoulder, twining her fingers in his hair. “No,” she said, “it’s perfectly understandable.”

 

**iii.**

When Roxy opened her door to see Dirk standing there for the second time that night, she almost laughed. Until she saw the expression on his face.

“Oh god, who died?” she asked.

She let him in, and he told her what had happened.

“Wait, hold on a second, Dave has fucking _Time powers_?”

“Yes,” Dirk said impatiently. “Maybe. I don’t know, okay? The only info we have to go on are Dave’s accounts of fucked up shit happening around him—this being the proverbial cherry on top of the fucked up cake, of course—and a Witch who I’m pretty certain we shouldn’t be putting any amount of trust in.” He sighed. “But that’s really not the pressing issue right now, Rox.”

“Right,” she said. “The dead body clone of our baby brother is… kind of a thing. That we should deal with.” The buzz from the drinks she’d had earlier was just starting to wear off, which pretty much really sucked in this situation. She looked at the clock hanging over her door. It was almost one AM. “We can’t—we can’t just leave it ‘til morning, or something?”

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” said Dirk, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let’s dispose of a dead body in the light of day when there are lots of people around to observe what’s going on and subsequently grow suspicious, and talk to their friends, providing information to the unending and unrelenting rumour mill which has never been known to spin in our favour.”

“Okay, okay, I get it! Terrible fucking idea!” Roxy bit her lip. “I know someone who can help with the heavy lifting, but you won’t like it.”

“If you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, then you’re right. I don’t like it. How do we know Zahhak won’t go telling the rest of the council everything? This really isn’t the kind of thing we want too many people knowing about.” He ran a hand through his hair. “For example, let’s try to not get any more Prospitians involved. I’ve already got Jake on fucking guard duty just because he… was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The wrong place, huh?” Okay, so she didn’t mean to be diverting the conversation to something so superficial, but in all honesty, she didn’t really know how she should be processing this information. And Dirk wanted _her_ to help come up with a way to… _fix_ this. She couldn’t even fix her own fucking problems!

“Roxy.”

“I know, I’m sorry, um…” she cast her mind about, mentally browsing her social circles for _someone_ trustworthy who could help them dispose of the dead body of the clone of their little brother. Fuck. It was an unimaginable situation—she kind of felt like she needed to see it to believe it, but on the other hand, she really didn’t _ever_ want to see something like that. She hoped it hadn’t affected Dirk too badly; he was a hard dude, but he wasn’t _heartless_. Especially not when it came to the people he genuinely cared about. “Ooh, I know!” she exclaimed, scrambling across the bed to grab her circlet. “There’s a Sylph of Life who’s an apostle at the temple. She might be able to help us with some sort of… Life-y powers or something.”

Dirk looked dubious. “Can we trust her?”

“Of course we can. The Apostles are sworn to help us anyway, and she’s been my friend for years. She won’t tell a soul if we make her promise not to,” Roxy assured him. He still looked uncertain, but he didn’t say anything as Roxy straightened her circlet and opened the phone module, picking the number for ‘da temple’ from her contacts.

It rang three times before she got an answer.

_“Derse Temple after-hours administration, how can I help you_?” said a tired voice on the other end of the line.

“Yes, hello! I have an emergency call for Apostle Feferi Peixes?”

_“Do you have a name I can give her?”_

“Princess Roxy Lalonde.”

_“One moment, please.”_

“Thanks.” Roxy caught Dirk’s eye and gave him a thumbs up.

“Message me when she gets here,” he said resignedly. “I should go make sure Dave’s okay. Rose is with him, but still. And I should probably rescue Jake.”

Roxy nodded. “Okay.”

Dirk left, and as he pulled the door closed behind him, a new voice on the other end of the line spoke: _“Hello? Roxy? What’s wrong?”_ Feferi sounded as if she’d been woken up, which… considering the time of night, she probably had.

“Hey,” Roxy said. “Sorry to wake you up, but we’ve got a bit of a… situation. Here at the palace.”

_“It’s no problem,”_ Feferi insisted. _“What kind of situation?”_

“Um,” said Roxy. “It’s kind of hard to explain. But you have to promise not to breathe a word of it to anyone, okay?”

Feferi giggled nervously. _“Um. Ocray? I guess I can do that. What do you need?”_

“Can you come here?” Roxy asked. “I can send a driver for you.”

_“Uh… no need, I can get a ride,”_ Feferi assured her. _“I still have no idea what’s going on, but it seems sea-rious.”_

“You could say that,” Roxy agreed.

DIRK: I don’t think it helps if we’re continually convincing ourselves of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was nice to format. Because it doesn't have any pesterlogs. Fun fact: It's the first chapter to lack pesterlogs since chapter 9.
> 
> Additionallyyyyy I feel like I should apologise for missing my weekend update. Right after one heck of a cliffhanger, too. I'm so sorry please forgive me. D: The semester is slowly but surely wearing me down. After the next two and a half weeks of _assured madness_ (three assignments due within two days? Fucking murder me) I get to have a merciful two week break, during which I will hopefully update a good handful of times before semester resumes.
> 
> Buuuut keep in mind that I'm more or less the embodiment of "spoke too soon." What I should be doing before I forget (like I did last week) is thanking you all for 100+ kudos!! Like whaaaaat???? 100????????? MADNESS. I can't thank you enough, dear reader who is reading this. I love you and you are very important to me because you validate my existence. <3


	21. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Sollux, come on. You deserve to have a home—a proper one!—and you deserve to be with people who know how to help you!” She stared imploringly at his silhouetted profile, at the hard lines of his cheekbones; the sharp points of his horns. He kept his eyes forwards, wilfully pressing his mouth shut._

**i.**

“Pretty late to be dropping in for a casual fucking royal visit,” Sollux commented, glancing both ways down the deserted street before pulling out of the temple driveway. “Why do you have to get _me_ to play chauffeur?”

“Because, silly! I don’t have a licence,” Feferi reminded him, adjusting the seatbelt across her chest. “I knew you’d be awake anyway.”

Sollux was quiet for a moment, but Feferi could just about _feel_ him fuming next to her. “You still didn’t tell me why you want to go to the palace at one in the morning.”

Feferi hummed. “Didn’t I?”

“F.F.,” said Sollux, “seriously.”

“You’re no fun sometimes,” Feferi sighed. “I was asked to come as soon as I cod. I was also asked not to tell anyglub, so you’re not allowed to tell a shoal, okay?”

Sollux shot her an unhappy glance, but nodded, then said nothing more and continued driving in silence.

“Have you thought any more aboat my offer?” Feferi ventured after a few moments.

“Of course I fucking have,” Sollux grumbled, his hands visibly tightening on the steering wheel. “The answer’s still no.”

“Sollux, come on. You deserve to have a home—a proper one!—and you deserve to be with people who know how to help you!” She stared imploringly at his silhouetted profile, at the hard lines of his cheekbones; the sharp points of his horns. He kept his eyes forwards, wilfully pressing his mouth shut. The illusion of focussing his full attention on driving. On the surface, it seemed odd that Sollux had ever bothered to get a licence, since anyone who knew him was aware that he didn’t need any vehicle in order to get places. But Feferi knew him better than that; knew the true toll of Sollux’s telekinetic abilities. Combined with his emerging Mage of Doom powers, they didn’t make for a very happy troll. Feferi hated to admit it to herself, but Sollux’s predisposition for suffering was a big part of what drew her to him. But only because she knew she could help him.

“Being an apostle isn’t so bad,” she continued. “It’s great, actually! Free accommodation, access to the library, lots of nice people around…”

“An oath of fealty to the crown,” Sollux added bitterly. “Because we just know how fucking well that’s worked out for apostles in the past. Especially heroes of Doom.”

Feferi frowned. “Whale, you’re _already_ sworn to help both sides just because of your birth!”

“Yeah, and that’s fucking bad enough. But at least I never have to hang around in either hellhole for too fucking long. Why are you so glubbing in love with Derse anyway? You’re not a Sylph, you’re a fucking Witch. What the _fuck_ do you think will happen when someone finds out?” He banged his palm violently against the steering wheel. “ _Fuck!_ I shouldn’t have said that. I’m _sorry_.”

“It’s fine,” Feferi said quietly. “I understand. Your brother’s stuck in Prospit. You’d miss him if you had to stay here.”

“Mituna has nothing to do with this.”

“And the reason why you’re afraid of your powers is because of what happened to him.”

“I told you he has _nothing to do with this_. Can you please fucking lay off it already?”

“Sollux…” she sighed. “I just… I miss you when you’re gone.”

Sollux was silent as they pulled up to the palace gates and were buzzed in by the night-shift gatekeeper.

“I’m shore we can come up with something,” Feferi insisted. “Maybe everything will be easier once the truce is in plaice.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” He pulled the hand break and cut the engine outside the back door to the palace. “Go. I’ll wait.”

Feferi smiled, then leaned over and pecked him on the cheek before getting out of the car.

 

**ii.**

“Are you sure I can’t help in any way? Maybe I could, er… Well, I can’t really think of anything, but I’m sure that you—”

“Jake.” They stopped at the bottom of the central staircase. “It’s fine. This isn’t your problem to deal with.”

“Well… if you’re sure.” Jake still looked uncertain.

Dirk tried a confident smile, but probably only managed an anxious grimace at best. “I’m sure. Go get some sleep.”

“Sleep!” Jake scoffed. “After that? Not bloody likely.”

“Rest, then.” Dirk shrugged. “A break from all the Strider bullshit.”

Jake opened his mouth as if to protest, but stopped; shut his jaw with a faint click of his teeth and sighed. “Fine.” He fidgeted, as if he still wanted to say something further but wasn’t sure how. Dirk knew the feeling.

“We can talk later,” Dirk assured him. “Sometime when everything isn’t going to shit.” Which probably wouldn’t be anytime soon.

Jake nodded and offered a wavering smile. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. Make sure you get some sleep, too, okay?”

“Will do.” Yeah, that wasn’t happening anytime soon either.

Jake left Dirk standing at the bottom of the grand main staircase, and though he’d insisted that Jake go back to his guest quarters, the massive entrance hall didn’t feel empty until it was just Dirk, alone in the dim, eerie glow of the motion-activated runway lighting.

Two things happened at once: the lights went out and the pesterchum module on Dirk’s circlet chirped a notification at him.

\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
TG: fishy gurl is here  
TG: just met her at the back door  
TG: what next capitan?  
TG: show her to the corpse? hold a seance?  
TT: You’re disturbingly flippant about this whole sequence of events.  
TG: dirk  
TG: if i dont treat it all like some huuuge fuckin joke  
TG: i wont b able to stop myself from assuming the fetal position and freaking the fuck OUT  
TT: Fair enough.  
TT: Meet me in the entrance hall. By the stairs.  
TG: comin atcha rn   
TG: be there soon k  
TT: Alright.  


 

**iii.**

The full moon was out tonight; the late-autumn sky unusually clear.

Of course, this meant very little to Karkat. He could only _guess_ that there was a full moon by the grey light leaking in through the canvas of the prison tent. He had no clue how the moon beamed luminous silver in the smooth, velvet-dark sky. The extra light meant little to him; trolls’ natural predisposition towards nocturnality meant that he could see sufficiently well in the dark. A few centuries of being guests to human society had made it apropos for trolls to keep a diurnal schedule—which they were perfectly capable of doing, being of tougher constitution than the considerably more fragile humans.

At Skaia, however, it meant nothing. Meenah had fixed it so that humans predominantly fought their shifts during the day; trolls during the night. Playing to their strengths, or, more accurately, their eyesight. And even that meant nothing to Karkat anymore, imprisoned as he was.

_Fully exonerated by the Prince fucking Regent himself_ , he thought, _But they’re still keeping me locked up in here_.

Not that he really blamed them.

He was huddled on the cot in the corner of his cell, already resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight. Or today. Maybe he wouldn’t get any sleep until he reached Derse—maybe not even then. Things were looking up for Karkat, finally, but it didn’t feel that way. He didn’t feel relieved, he just felt guilty. Ashamed. There was no point in beating himself up for the millionth time (this week alone) about how badly he’d fucked up, because it wouldn’t achieve anything. The same way nothing he ever did achieved anything, _especially_ when he wanted it to.

He hadn’t really wanted to assassinate the King of Derse. He hadn’t really wanted to fight at Skaia. He realised that now.

What he’d really wanted—for the briefest of most utterly fucking hysterical moments—was far less noble than that. Far more selfish. Far less bearable to admit to himself. Because, really, he didn’t have any confidence in his fighting abilities. His ability to kill.

He was glad he didn’t have to go back to Prospit, actually, because as much as the idea of facing Kankri made him want to curl up into a ball of shame and _never fucking move again_ , the idea of facing everyone back in Prospit (especially Terezi; fuck) was far, far worse. In fact, he kind of hoped he _would_ like Derse. Then maybe he wouldn’t ever have any incentive to leave—and perhaps that would be for the best.

Karkat rolled over and wished Monday would get here already, just so he could get out of this forsaken fucking cell for the last time.

 

**iv.**

“Dave. You should at least _try_ get some sleep.”

“Not tired.”

Rose sighed. “Yes, you said that, which is why _I_ said _try_. You never know.”

“Yes I do.”

Dave and his obstinacy, again. It was frustrating at the best of times, and this was most certainly _not_ the best of times—nor was it the worst of times, as far as Rose could tell, but it was definitely pretty high on the list. Increasingly high, in fact

Rose was still seated on Dirk’s bed, at the end now, but Dave had moved to sit on the floor in front of the balcony door, having turned out the lights and pulled the heavy curtains aside, casting the room in moonlight. He sat there, arms linked around his legs, staring through the glass, through the pickets of the balcony railing, at the churning grey ocean.

She moved to settle herself on the floor beside him.

“What are you thinking about right now?” she asked gently.

“I’m trying not to think about anything,” Dave admitted. “You’re not helping.”

“Dave,” Rose began, “you can’t avoid this forever.”

“I won’t,” he insisted. “Just for the time being.”

She didn’t really have an answer to that. Anything she could have come up with, she knew he would have some kind of rejoinder to. Such was his way.

After a moment, she said, “I suppose I should apologise.”

Dave didn’t reply, just kept staring out at the ocean, face blank.

“I know that sometimes I can be… well, _blinded_ , as you say—”

“Rose.” Dave looked at her sharply. His eyes (it was nice but almost unnerving seeing him without his shades for such an extended period of time) were dull and flat in the greyscale lighting. “I don’t want to talk and I don’t want to listen and I don’t want to fucking well _sleep_. Okay? I just wanna… I just want to sit here for now. Alright?”

His voice was sharp; harsh, but he looked so scared and overwhelmed that Rose felt at a total loss.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

Dave nodded, and that blank veneer slipped over his features once again as he turned back to the window. Rose stayed beside him, staring out at the ocean. Maybe, if she stared long enough and hard enough, she would see what Dave could see.

 

**v.**

“Jane?”

Jane turned away from the terrace railing, squinting at the silhouette in the doorway. “Jade? Is that you?”

“Yep.” Jade came up alongside her, staring out at the twinkling lights of Prospit City. “You’re up late.”

“I could say the same for you.”

Jade shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” Jane smiled. “Too much thinking?”

“Yeah,” Jade laughed. “You, too?”

“You bet.”

Jade leaned sideways against the railing, smiling. “Anything particular on your mind?”

Jane glanced at her. “Not really.” She paused, looking down at her hands, then back up at the city. “I don’t think I really know how to describe it. Sometimes it’s as if I can feel the entire kingdom within me, like… a second heartbeat.”

“That sounds… odd,” Jade remarked. “And… uncomfortable?”

“That’s not even the worst part.” Jane smiled wistfully. “I can’t shake the sense that if that heartbeat were ever to fall out of sync with my own, it could only mean… bad things. I don’t know what.” She blinked, then shook herself and turned to Jade with a grin. “I suppose I’m just a tad stressed by all this Queenly business.”

Jade hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t know if you should be chalking it up to just stress,” she warned. “I think maybe you should talk to Ms. Maryam about it.”

“Porrim?” Jane stared. “Why?”

“It won’t hurt!” Jade shrugged. “I don’t know. Just to make sure you’re not experiencing something a good deal more… uh… mercurial?”

“…Mercurial?”

“Mercurial.”

Jane frowned. “Maybe I will, then. God forbid I ignore the potential _mercuriality_ of an undoubtedly psychosomatic stress-induced ailment.”

“I was just saying!” Jade laughed. “You never know, okay? I can’t be the _only_ one to inherit our mother’s…” she trailed off.

“Our mother’s what?”

Jade jutted out her chin. “Our mother’s proclivity for the parapsychological.”

Jane raised her eyebrows. “Parapsychological?”

“Yep.” Jade looked away. “It was a word one of my instructor’s mentioned. As far as anyone can tell, class and aspect and the relationships between them have a lot to do with the psychology of the individual. Aspect powers have nothing to do with physicality, you know. They come exclusively from the mind.”

“Really. You sound like a textbook,” Jane teased. Jade shot her a look of exaggerated annoyance. “Is that what’s keeping _you_ up?”

“No,” Jade sighed, slumping over the railing. “I can’t stop thinking about the truce negotiations in Derse. I hate being stuck here while that’s going on. I just… I feel so helpless.”

Jane nodded slowly. “I understand. Believe me, I understand.”

 

**vi.**

Roxy watched Feferi’s frown grow more pronounced and horrified as Dirk explained what had happened.

“I’ve never even _heard_ of anyfin like that before!” she exclaimed once he was done.

“Are there no apostles of Time at the temple?” Roxy asked.

“No, there aren’t.” Feferi took a few deep breaths. “Time isn’t a common aspect, you sea, because it’s very dangerous—and not just for the hero.”

Roxy exchanged a glance with Dirk. None of this was boding particularly well for the StriLonde family. Especially not Dave, the poor kid.

“The ancient scriptures refer to the coming of heroes of Time as something to be wary of,” Feferi continued. “They tend to be a precursor to… um, hardship, shell we say.”

“Hardship?” Dirk repeated. “So you’re saying that Time heroes make bad things happen.”

“Not necessarily! It could be said that Time heroes are linked with periods of strife because most of them have the power to alter timelines—a power which is guaranteed to either kelp or harm, with no in-between, often regardless of intention.” She bit her lip. “There’s no doubt about it, though: your younger brother is the first hero of Time Derse has seen in over a decade.”

Again, Roxy and Dirk exchanged a look. They both knew _that_ wasn’t quite true.

Dirk sighed and rubbed at the side of his nose. “I’m sure that bodes well,” he muttered. “Anyway. We can deal with that later. Right now there’s what I _presume_ is a Time-double of our brother lying dead on the floor in a room a few halls down. Are you able to help us with that?”

Feferi swallowed audibly. “I won’t enjoy it,” she warned, “But I bereef I can, yes.”

They traipsed silently through the halls towards Dave’s quarters. As they approached the door, Dirk stopped Roxy with a hand on her shoulder.

“Rox,” he said quietly. “You should… go somewhere else. Go to my quarters and see Dave. The real Dave.”

“No,” she said, and then immediately wasn’t sure why.

Dirk blinked and quirked a sceptical eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

She floundered. “I mean… I wanna stay.” She looked down at her clasped fingers. “Look, it’s not that I really want to see our brother splattered across the floor, alright? It’s just… I feel so uninvolved and useless lately.” She let out a sardonic laugh. “And even now, there’s not really a lot I can do, but… okay, bear with me, because this is going to sound _really_ fucking corny, but I _know_ you’re not as okay with all this as you pretend to be, and I don’t think it’s fair if you have to be the only one sorting everyone else’s shit.” She shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like _I_ can sort out any of my own shit, but let’s face it: neither can you.”

Dirk was silent for a moment, staring at her with a purposefully impassive expression—which was how she knew she’d said something right somewhere. Feferi stood off to one side, watching them, but keeping a respectful distance as they sorted out their sibling bullshit between each other. Mad props to her for reading the situation.

“Fine,” Dirk said finally, a steely edge to his voice. “But if you end up regretting it, you’ll know whose fault it is.”

“Alright then, Mr. Grumpy,” Roxy said, with a jibing cheerfulness she didn’t feel, as Dirk swung open the door and ushered them inside.

It was about as bad as Roxy had been expecting. Yet somehow not as bad. Yet somehow worse.

The prognosis _crushed by falling chandelier_ was not one conducive to mental images that fell under any definition of ‘pleasing.’ Roxy had always had somewhat of a vivid imagination, so some of the images she’d unwittingly conjured (thanks, brain) were, in fact, worse than the reality. Her mind had summoned misshapen limbs, shattered bones, bits of guts and gore and brains littering the floor. And yet, as horrible as those images were, they weren’t _real_ and she couldn’t convince herself that the pile of crushed meat skittering across her mind’s eye could be _Dave_. But while those images were _visually_ worse than what faced her in reality, mental images had none of the visceral tangibility of what she faced right now.

The majority of the blood came from the wide-open gash splitting this Dave’s skull. Not a hint of blonde was visible under _red red red_ and sure, red was Dave’s colour, but there was such a thing as _too much_ and this was most definitely it. Most of his body was hidden, thankfully, by a mess of shattered glass and dented metal arms. His own arms were stretched outwards, as if in some futile attempt to pull himself free… but there was no way he had lived long enough for that. Only half of Dave’s face was visible, the other half sunk into the carpet. His one visible eye, the colour so dull and glazed in comparison to the veritable sea of blood all around him, was wide open with fear and shock—he’d _known_ what was coming, but he hadn’t… he hadn’t gotten out of the way quick enough. The idea of that, more than however horrifying the scene was, just broke Roxy’s heart.

“The real Dave is down the hall,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. Feferi crossed in front of her, obscuring her view of the dead Dave and restoring her to the present moment. She dimly became aware of Dirk’s arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Rose is with him. He’ll be fine.”

Roxy nodded, worming her own shaking arm around Dirk’s waist and leaning into him as much as he leaned into her. She had been right about one thing, at least.

Feferi, crouched in front of the corpse, glanced back at them sympathetically. “He didn’t suffer,” she said kindly, “if that’s… any consolation.”

“It is,” Roxy said. “He’s not _the_ Dave, but he’s still _a_ Dave. Still our brother.” She laughed bitterly and looked up at Dirk. “We’ve lost him twice now, yet we still have him. How is that?”

Dirk shook his head. “Just… fuckin’ shenanigans.”

Again, Roxy laughed—and if there was more than a little hysteria in her cackle, neither Dirk nor Feferi commented on it. “Fuckin’ shenanigans!”

“Shenanigans,” Feferi confirmed with a tentative smile. “Shell I…?”

“Do it,” said Dirk.

Feferi nodded and turned back to the corpse. She held out her hands, and suddenly the room was filled with a swirling green light, such that Roxy had to shield her eyes against it. By the time it faded, and she looked back, Feferi stood in front of the fallen chandelier, a tired but kindly smile on her face. The corpse was gone without a trace, all the blood vanished. There was no sign that the chandelier hadn’t simply fallen unimpeded.

“I hope it’s not too much to ask,” Feferi began, “but I’d like to sea your brother, if that’s alright.”

 

**vii.**

\--  gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA] \--  
  
GC: H3LLO K4N4Y4  
GA: Hello Terezi  
GA: You Have Not Been Online In A Considerable While  
GA: I Was On The Verge Of Thinking That Perhaps I Should Be Concerned  
GC: NOP3, NO N33D FOR 4NY CONC3RN H3R3  
GC: 1V3 JUST B33N BUSY W1TH MY OWN 1NV3ST1G4T1ONS 4ND THOUGHT 1T B3ST TO K33P ON TH3 DOWN LOW FOR TH3 MOM3NT!  
GA: I See  
GA: Well Actually I Dont  
GA: What Are You Investigating I Dont Believe Youve Ever Mentioned This Before  
GC: NOTH1NG P4RT1CUL4RLY 1MPORT4NT  
GC: 1TS K1ND4... P3RSON4L 4CTU4LLY?  
GC: 1LL T3LL YOU MOR3 WH3N YOU GUYS G3T B4CK TO PROSP1T!   
GC: G1V3 M3 SOM3 UPD4T3S 4BOUT TH4T S1TU4T1ON  
GA: Terezi If I Didnt Know You Better I Would Think That You Were Currently Employing Some Deflection Tactics  
GA: However I Know That You Are Above Stooping To Such Lows So I Will Accept The Change Of Subject  
GA: But I Must Admit That The Negotiations Are Not Quite Going As Smoothly As Any Of Us Would Like  
GA: Which Hasnt Been Helped By A Rather Vociferous Outburst From Kankri Just This Morning  
GC: OH GOD  
GC: WH4T H4PP3N3D?  
GA: Through Some Esoteric And Unexplained Series Of Events  
GA: He Confirmed That Karkat Had Indeed Been Sent To Skaia  
GC: OH... Y34H  
GC: 1 4LR34DY KN3W  
GC: VR1SK4 TOLD M3 TH4T H3 W4S 4RR3ST3D 4T TH3 C34S3F1R3 M33T1NG >:[  
GA: Well  
GA: I Was Not Aware Of That  
GC: 1M SORRY K4N4Y4  
GC: 1 PROB4BLY COULD H4V3 S4V3D YOU 4 LOT OF TROUBL3 BY T3LL1NG YOU GUYS  
GC: 1 GU3SS 1 W4S PR3OCCUP13D!  
GC: HOW D1D K4NKR1 F1ND OUT ON H1S OWN?  
GA: As Far As I Understand The Younger Prince Strider Was Somehow Involved  
GA: Rose Tells Me That He And Karkat Were On The Same Train To Skaia  
GA: The Prince Having Been Put There Mistakenly Of Course And Instantly Recalled To Derse Once The Prince Regent Learned Of The Situation  
GC: WHOS ROS3??  
GA: The Younger Princess Of Derse  
GA: She Is A Seer Of Light  
GA: I Would Go So Far As To Say That She Has An Enlightening Personality  
GA: She And I Have Become Fast Friends  
GC: >:O  
GC: SOUNDS L1K3 4 LOT H4S H4PP3N3D S1NC3 YOU L3FT PROSP1T  
GA: On This End Yes  
GA: How About Your End  
GC: W3LL... L1K3 1 S41D 1V3 B33N K1ND OF 4BSORB3D 1N MY OWN 1NV3ST1G4T1ONS  
GC: BUT 4S F4R 4S 1 C4N T3LL 1TS B33N QU13T  
GC: TO B3 HON3ST 1T F33LS MOR3 L1K3 TH3 C4LM B3FOR3 TH3 STORM TH4N 4NYTH1NG  
GC: BUT TH4T COULD JUST B3 M3  
GC: 1 4CTU4LLY W4NT3D TO 4SK 4 F4VOUR OF YOU  
GA: Oh Really  
GA: What Sort Of Favour  
GC: 4 V3RY 1MPORT4NT ON3!  
GC: ...POSS1BLY  
GC: YOU H4V3 4CC3SS TO TH3 L1BR4RY OF D3RS3 OR WH3R3V3R TH3Y STOR3 TH31R H1STORY BOOKS 4ND STUFF R1GHT?  
GA: The Temple Archives Yes  
GA: Rose And I Have Been Spending A Considerable Amount Of Time There Researching Possible Precedents And The Like That May Aid The Negotiations  
GC: GR34T! TH4TS K1ND OF 3X4CTLY WH4T 1 W4NT3D TO 4SK YOU TO DO  
GC: H4V3 YOU COM3 4CROSS 4NY M3NT1ONS OF SOM3TH1NG C4LL3D TH3 P4R4DOX?  
GA: The Paradox  
GA: No I Dont Believe I Have  
GA: It Doesnt Ring Any Bells At Least  
GC: HMM  
GA: Why  
GA: Is It Important  
GC: 1 DONT KNOW Y3T  
GC: POSS1BLY  
GC: 1M 3MPLOY1NG TH3 4DV4NC3D 1NV3ST1G4TORY T4CT1C OF “B3TT3R S4F3 TH4N SORRY”   
GC: 1V3 B33N TRY1NG TO F1ND 1NFORM4T1ON 4BOUT 1T 1N TH3 P4NTH3ON 4TH3N43UM BUT 1 H4V3NT H4D 4LL TH4T MUCH LUCK SO F4R  
GC: 4LL 1 KNOW 1S TH4T 1T M4Y OR M4Y NOT 3X1ST  
GC: 4ND 1TS NOT 4 WH4T, BUT 4 WH3R3  
GA: Well  
GA: That Certainly Does Sound Mysterious  
GA: I Will Keep An Eye Out For It From Now On And Use Whatever Free Time I Might Stumble Upon To Actively Search For It  
GA: There Are No Meetings On Sunday So I Will Do My Best Put Aside A Portion Of The Day To See What I Might Find  
GC: TH4NK YOU SO MUCH K4N4Y4!  
GC: L3T M3 KNOW 4S SOON 4S YOU F1ND 4NYTH1NG  
GC: 1F YOU F1ND 4NYTH1NG TH4T 1S  
GC: 3V3N TH3 SM4LL3ST P13C3 OF 1NFORM4T1ON M1GHT B3 CRUC14L  
GC: 1M GO1NG 1NCOGN1TO 4G41N 4FT3R TH1S BUT 1LL JUST B3 1N OFFL1N3 MOD3 SO 1LL ST1LL S33 WH4T3V3R M3SS4G3S YOU S3ND M3  
GA: I Will Keep That In Mind  
GC: TH4NKS 4G41N K4N4Y4  
GA: It Is Quite Alright  
GA: Just One Thing Though  
GC: WH4T?  
GA: Is It Crucial That I Keep This Secret  
GA: I Should Like To Let Rose Know What I Am Looking For  
GA: She May Be Able To Help  
GA: In Fact She May Know Something Already  
GC: HMM... W3LL, 1F YOU TRUST H3R, 1T SHOULD B3 F1N3  
GC: BUT K33P 1T B3TW33N TH3 TWO OF YOU  
GC: DONT 3V3N L3T K4NKR1 OR JOHN OR J4K3 KNOW OK  
GA: Very Well  
GA: I Will Inform Her That It Is A Secret Of Utmost Importance  
GA: I Trust In Her Sense Of Discretion  
GC: OH R34LLY > :]  
GA: I Know What Youre Thinking  
GA: Stop It  
GC: H3H3H3H3H3H3  
GC: OK4Y OK4Y  
GC: 1 N33D TO GO NOW  
GC: BUT B3 SUR3 TO L3T M3 KNOW WH4T YOU F1ND!  
GA: I Will  
GC: >:]  
  
\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA] \-- 

 

**viii.**

“It’s freezing out here,” Rose commented.

“Feel free to go inside,” said Dave.

Rose shot him a look and shivered, hugging her fleece-clad knees more tightly to her chest.

It wasn’t fair that Dirk got to have a balcony off his quarters. Dave wanted a balcony. Well, he supposed Dirk _was_ the Prince Regent and Heir Apparent, which should probably entitle the guy to _some_ luxuries, but still.

Dave was sat at the edge of the balcony with his legs stuck through the gaps in the pickets, dangling out into open air, hundreds of metres above the jagged rocks below. How exhilarating. Rose was right, it was _freezing_. Practically fucking sub-zero; it was a surprise there weren’t any icebergs visibly floating just offshore, glinting in the moonlight and just waiting for some unsuspecting ship to come along and gut itself against the ice. That would be a hell of a sight.

But he supposed it wasn’t quite cold enough for that yet. It was only the end of autumn, after all—which meant it would get _really_ cold in one month’s, two months’, three months’ time. If it were any later in the year, Dave wouldn’t be hanging around outside in only a t-shirt, boxers, and the blanket Rose had draped over his shoulders, citing that he’d catch his death if he wasn’t careful. It wasn’t his shoulders that were cold, though; his feet were so numb he wasn’t even sure they were still there. Maybe, no longer able to bear the cold, they’d jumped ship and fallen to their deaths, the silent mark of their protest smeared across the rocks, awaiting the tide.

He looked down. Oh, yep, feet still attached. ‘Kay. Great.

The expression “catch your death” was such a strange one. Catching wasn’t generally something you did by accident, unless you had the reflexes of a fucking hyper-ninja, which Dave supposed he absolutely totally did. He really needed to get back into his training now that his concussion was healed—and it _was_ healed, because whatever the Witch—

Fuck. Try again.

He really needed to get back into his training now that his head was better—it wouldn’t do to be sitting around on his ass being all princely and shit when there was a war still going on a few miles to the north. He could only imagine how fucking cold it was up there. Dave wondered how Karkat was faring in the cold. Although… from what Dave remembered of Skaia, (which wasn’t much,) it had been unduly warm when he’d been there. The place was a wasteland, too—not exactly your pleasant holiday getaway. Sure, put it on your bucket list, go there once, realise how awful it is and say, “well, fuck, this sucks, let’s never come here again,” and then leave. That was a relatively sane thing to do. But choosing to stay there for any length of time, most especially when there was a _war_ and crazy fish ladies and oily lizard-demons? Yep, no thanks. Karkat was pretty much a crackpot for choosing to stay when Meenah had offered him an out, and Dave would be sure to let the guy know, if he ever saw him again.

Beside him, Rose yawned for about the seventh time in as many minutes.

“Holy fuck, go to bed already,” Dave told her.

She scowled. “You first.”

“I told you. I’m not fucking tired.” And he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. He’d slept enough for one night.

“But you _look_ exhausted,” she pointed out matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving,” he remarked. “It’s not like you’re looking much better.”

“At least I’m perfectly willing to admit it,” she said. Then, she sighed, and her voice took on a kinder tone. “You don’t need to be afraid of sleeping, Dave.”

Against his will, his whole body tensed. His numb feet stopped swinging. “I’m not,” he said.

“You’ve gotten injured from sword fighting plenty of times,” she went on, as if he hadn’t said anything, “but you never gave up on that. You’ve never even considered giving up on that.”

“That’s different,” he said.

“It’s the same principle.”

“I’m not afraid of sleeping,” he insisted, with _feeling_. Because he wasn’t. Regardless of what shifting, shapeless terrors might be waiting for him below the surface of his unconscious mind, it wasn’t anything particularly frightening. Nightmares weren’t anything new to Dave—they were usual, run-of-the-mill, practically an everyday occurrence. He wasn’t scared of sleeping. Not now, not ever. “It’s waking up I’m afraid of,” he muttered.

Rose looked stricken, but before she could say anything, they were interrupted by Roxy’s voice calling from inside, “Dave?”

Both Dave and Rose turned to see Roxy appear at the balcony door, messy-haired and pale-faced. “There you are!” she breathed, and then practically threw herself at Dave, dropping to her knees and grabbing him in the most ferocious-yet-affectionate tackle-hug he’d ever been subject to.

Well, at least she was warm.

“You’re the real Dave,” she said softly as she squeezed him, her voice tickling his ear. “You always will be.”

The words only half made sense to him, in some part of his mind that he was desperately trying not to acknowledge right now. Or ever, if he could help it—though he knew, in another part of his mind he was trying to ignore, that sooner or later he would have no choice.

Somehow, overwhelmed as it was with trying to ignore so many parts of itself, his conscious mind must have clocked out for a few moments. When he tuned back in he was inside, sitting on the couch in Dirk’s quarters with the blanket wrapped more tightly around him. Roxy sat to his right, one arm slung loosely—almost protectively—over his shoulders. Dirk sat on the coffee table, carefully watching the tall-horned troll crouched in front of the couch, peering at Dave’s face.

“Huh,” he said, “You look like Meenah.”

The troll blinked. “The Battle Commander? She’s my cousin.” She smiled. “My name is Feferi Peixes.”

Dave nodded, then looked around. “Where’s Rose?”

Dirk narrowed his eyes at him. “She went back to her own quarters to get some sleep,” he said. “You told her to. She argued, but Rox and I both agreed she should. Don’t you… remember?”

“Huh,” Dave repeated. “Guess I checked out for a minute there.” He tried to raise a hand to tap indicatively at his skull, but the blanket was in the way and it was too much effort to extricate his limbs, so he gave up.

“Right.” Dirk nodded, though he still looked wary.

Feferi stood, and despite her tall horns, she herself wasn’t very tall—in fact, now that she was standing up, Dave could see that the horns and the face and the eyes were about the extent of the physical similarities between her and Meenah.

“I should be swimming off now,” she said. She smiled at Dave. “It was nice meeting you, Dave.”

“You too,” Dave said robotically.

Dirk stood. “I’ll walk you down,” he offered.

“That would probably be for the best. I’d pikely get lost, otter-wise!” Feferi giggled.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Dirk remarked, exchanging a significant look with Roxy before leading Feferi out.

“What was she here for?” Dave wondered once the door had closed behind them.

“Just making sure you’re still fully-functioning. She’s a Sylph of Life. A temple apostle,” Roxy explained light-heartedly. She gently squeezed his shoulders. “You should go to sleep, if you want to.”

“I don’t,” he said immediately. “I’m not tired.”

Roxy was silent for a moment, but then she smiled and nodded. “Me neither. I have an idea—let’s wake up one of the attendants and make them bring us popcorn so we can have that fuckin’ movie night already!”

That sounded perfectly fine to Dave. “Shore,” he said.

FEFERI: I knew you’d be awake anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest I've gone without updating since I started this thing. Unfortunately, the gap between this chapter and the next is probably going to be even longer; I got so much shit goin' on, dude. So much.
> 
> Admittedly I've also just been seriously unmotivated. Nothing related to this, just a general feeling of ugh in my life rn. And I'm in a perpetual state of feeling like I'm at either the very beginning or the tail end of a really bad cold. Also, wisdom teeth. They can fuck right off. Not sure why I'm telling you all this. But I have a really annoying ache between my eyes at the moment and I kinda can't see or think straight. So... if you spotted any errors in this chapter, that's probably why. 
> 
> Hey, tell me stories about cute animals in the comments. I don't even care if you comment on the chapter itself I just want to hear about puppies and kittens and stuff.


	22. All You Needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“_ Hey! _You two!” came a booming voice from behind. They whipped around to see a patrol officer in midnight purple uniform brandishing a nightstick at them._
> 
>  
> 
> _Damara held up a hand and the officer froze._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww man, guess who's back??? It's me!! I'm back!! I have returned!!!! :D
> 
> This is actually quite a momentous occasion; never before have I left off on a fan project for over a month and then actually returned to it. That being said, I _am_ sorry to those of you who were left in the lurch over two months ago (and also thank you for coming back?? if anyone reading this has actually been waiting that whole time which would quite honestly surprise me because two months oh boy i am so sorry). I did have a two week mid-semester break shortly after publishing last chapter, and I did promise to work on this during it (whoops) but I actually used it to take a legit break and then the six weeks after that were some of the busiest weeks of my life, academically, socially, and... generally.
> 
> And now I'm back in the same position I was in when I first started this fic: on study leave, with exams coming up. Anyway, this chapter is only a short one.

**i.**

At the lowest point of the Derse City’s lower town, two young trolls emerged from a manhole in the middle of a deserted street. It was the dead of night, and there was no one about—except, of course, for these two young trolls.

The first, by the name of Aradia Megido, hopped out and looked around, then, seeing that there was no one around, beckoned to her companion. The second climbed out, slowly and carefully, looking around in a similar manner to the first.

Aradia rolled her eyes. “The coast is clear, I already checked.” She then looked down at her shoes, which were coated in all manner of grime from the sewers, and grimaced. “Better do something about these.”

Her companion nodded, looking down at her own shoes, which were in a similar state. Aradia watched, listening to the delicate ticking noise that filled the air as her companion’s shoes returned to their original state. She looked up at Aradia. _“Anata no kutsu mo?”_ she asked, in her and Aradia’s native dialect. Aradia had been trying to use Human English—the more commonly spoken tongue—as much as she could, simply for the sake of getting used to it, but her companion—rather, her twin sister—was not so enthusiastic about polylinguism as Aradia.

“I can manage,” Aradia said with a frown. Again, she looked down at her own shoes—focussed upon them, calling upon the strands of Time, sloughing off the past few hours and returning the shoes to their worn, beaten, but much more clean and _certainly_ more wearable state. “There!” she said, grinning up at her sister. “See, Damara? I did it!” It had been no small feat, but she had done it. Time didn’t come to her quite as easily as it did to Damara, but that was understandable: after all, Damara was a Witch, natural manipulator of her aspect, whilst Aradia was merely a maid; more so a servant than a master.

Damara nodded. _“Doko ima?”_

Aradia frowned. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I wasn’t given any details about where she would actually be meeting us, so—”

“ _Hey!_ You two!” came a booming voice from behind. They whipped around to see a patrol officer in midnight purple uniform brandishing a nightstick at them.

Damara held up a hand and the officer froze.

“That could have been disastrous,” Aradia commented cheerfully. “Nice job.”

Damara nodded. _“Koko ni nokoshimashou.”_

That sounded fine to Aradia, so, in no particular hurry, they strolled down the street, away from the frozen-in-time officer.

A few streets down, they heard another voice behind them.

“You are here.”

As one, Aradia and Damara turned. Standing before them was… Damara. Well, an older Damara. She didn’t look too much different—a little taller, a little slimmer. Her horns were more pronounced, too—more sinister, somehow. Aradia had always thought her own horns were quite cute, but somehow Damara made them look dangerous. Despite the fact that they were exactly the same. There was certainly something to be said for wielder over weapon.

“Yep,” Aradia confirmed. “Right on Time.”

Neither Damara nor the older Damara reacted to her well-Timed pun (and another one! Aradia: 2, Damara2: 0). Aradia had hoped that, as she matured, Damara might develop a sense of humour that wasn’t just sexual innuendoes and double entendre, but it would appear not. What a shame.

The older Damara turned to her younger self, and rattled off a long list of instructions in a code that only another Damara could ever understand. It was in their native language, sure, so Aradia understood the _words_ , but she didn’t understand the meaning. Being twins didn’t mean they shared everything with each other—especially when one twin was Damara. That kind of threw a wrench in the whole joined-at-the-hip twinny thing that Aradia had resigned herself to never getting to experience. It almost made the idea of even _having_ a twin kind of pointless. But anyway—the gist of what the older Damara was saying, as far as Aradia could tell, was just a whole lot of boring details about where (or rather, when) the younger Damara needed to go, who she needed to talk to, what she needed to do. Most people would probably forget all of these details in a heartbeat, but… this was Damara, who Aradia was pretty sure wasn’t capable of forgetting something if she _tried_.

Finally, the older Damara finished her spiel, nodded curtly, and said one more word, this time in Human English: “Go.”

Younger Damara nodded, and without even so much as saying goodbye to Aradia, she disappeared into Time.

“That was rude,” Aradia grumbled. She turned to the older Damara. “I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve seen me since then.”

Damara blinked.

“How many sweeps?”

“…Nearly three.”

“That’s really not very polite,” Aradia chastised. “ _I_ would never exploit time travel just so I didn’t have to visit _you_ for almost three sweeps.”

Damara stared.

Aradia sighed. “Okay, okay. What do _I_ need to do?”

“Go to the palace,” Damara said. “Wait for morning. Request an audience with Dave Strider.”

Aradia nodded. None of this was too surprising—Aradia had known for at least six sweeps that her role, this day, would include speaking to royalty. She was okay with that. Better her than Damara, that was for certain. “And you want me to help him.”

Damara shrugged. “Explain things.”

“What things?”

“Things,” Damara looked irked, which was vaguely satisfying to Aradia—she’d started to feel like this Damara had the upper hand here. Well.. she unequivocally _did_ , being taller and older and more powerful and more experienced with the ever-esoteric shenanigans of Time. But it was nice to know Aradia could still get on her nerves, just like old times. Old times for Aradia being less than a minute ago. “Time.”

“Right.” Aradia grinned. “That’s all you needed to say.”

“Right.” Damara nodded, and then she, just like her younger self, unceremoniously disappeared.

Aradia stood alone in the dark, empty street, and sighed.

“Right.”

 

**ii.**

It was about five AM. Dave wasn’t really too sure; Dirk’s quarters didn’t have a clock.

It had been somewhere around two when, per Roxy’s suggestion, they’d woken up some poor palace attendant purely for the sake of bringing them some late-night (or early morning, depending on how you wanted to look at it) popcorn. In the meantime, Roxy had powered up a forty-two inch holo-screen in the centre of Dirk’s coffee table, and, after hearing that Dave hadn’t seen it before, turned on some pseudo-archival “horror” film called _The Blair Witch Project_. It was pretty shitty and pretty obviously fake, like, come on. Not even scary. Dirk had returned shortly after the popcorn had arrived, and despite rolling his eyes at Roxy’s choice of film, had flopped down on Dave’s other side and settled down to watch it with them, making the occasional snide comment.

Roxy had fallen asleep within the last half-hour of the film. Dirk hadn’t been very far behind her, leaving Dave, wide-awake with no popcorn left, to watch the ending on his own.

Yeah, it was shitty. Admittedly, however, the house in the ending had struck an odd chord with Dave. Maybe it was just how decrepit it was, reminding him vaguely of his and Rose’s days as street urchins. Maybe it was the countless bloody handprints on the wall. Who knew?

That had been at least an hour ago. Since then, Dave had just sat there, his older siblings asleep to either side of him, thinking. As if he hadn’t been doing enough of that lately. As if he really needed to be doing more of it.

He knew what had happened. To him, specifically—he knew he was in some form of shock, and some objective part of him was very keenly observing his behaviour, picking it apart, ready to present him with its findings as soon as it found a chance. That was fine. Dave knew how to delay it as long as possible, thinking about things that were totally inconsequential, and maybe a little bit weird—truthfully, he _was_ tired, but not physically, necessarily. He felt less like sleeping and more like passing out, if that made any sense. Although the whole waking up thing was still nerve-wracking, because he could never truly know what he would wake up to. More specifically: who he would wake up as. What if the same kind of thing happened again? Maybe not with a chandelier, but what if this time he woke up as the Dave that ended up dead? Sure, he’d still be _technically_ alive, but the him that was _him_ in that consciousness would be dead.

Alright, so maybe he wasn’t so good at denying his inner-psychoanalyst as he would have liked. He gave Rose plenty of shit for trying to dig too deep into his mind, but it was probably just because he got enough of the pseudo-analytical shtick from himself. And since they were twins, Rose was pretty much also him anyway, except a girl. And a Seer of Light. And pretty much better than him in every single way.

Damn, Edgar Allan Poe was probably _rolling_ in his grave right now, full of the gothy conviction that everyone is secretly afraid of themselves. In a way, Rose was more torturously Dave’s duplicate than any _literal_ clone, simply _because_ of how much better she was than him. But maybe that was precisely why an exact doppelgänger was more daunting: it wasn’t so much an exposition of what he could never be, but a painful reminder of what he _was_.

But just _what_ was he?

Careful not to disturb Roxy or Dirk, Dave extricated himself from the pile of blankets that had gradually amassed on the couch (where had they even come from?? It was a mystery) and crossed to the balcony door, like scrap iron to a magnet.

It was fucking _freezing_ outside and he immediately regretted not dragging one of the blankets with him. It was still mostly dark, the moon long since set, but along the distant horizon was the faintest hint of imminent sunrise: a strip of gold right across the water, separated from the velvety black of the fading nighttime sky by gradated blues. Maybe that meant it was later than Dave had thought. It was nearly winter after all. Or maybe not—he had no clue what time sunrise normally was, he was usually asleep at this time of morning.

_Probably gonna fall asleep during negotiations today_ , he thought to himself, shivering. _That’s gonna suck_.

What currently sucked was this cold fucking wind, so he slipped back inside.

He was still shivering, though. He glanced over at the couch, where Dirk and Roxy snoozed on, curled up at either end. Sort of. Well, Roxy was curled up, Dirk could be more aptly described as _sprawled_.

What Dave really needed was some god damn pants. Like, damn.

For some reason, the carpeted, fully insulated hallway was almost as cold as the balcony, the absence of wind being the only thing that made it in any way more temperate. Dave could feel his heart thudding more stridently as, one foot in front of the other, he made his way down the hall to his own quarters.

_If I don’t look, it isn’t there,_ he reminded himself. _Don’t look; it isn’t there. I just need to get some fucking clothes._ He reached his door and didn’t even pause before pushing it open.

He looked.

“Huh,” he said aloud. “It really isn’t there.”

Dirk had done a really good job of getting in a clean-up crew at such an odd hour. Props to him. Dave would have to remember to give Dirk props later. Many props to Dirk. It was definitely nice to be able to navigate his own quarters without having to worry about stepping on his own dead body, or a blood-soaked patch of carpet. The mangled chandelier, with many tiny and dangerous shards of glass and metal, were still kind of a hazard, but… somewhat less nauseating. In fact, Dave felt so un-nauseated that he decided to have a shower.

It was a common belief that showers solved all problems, at least for the duration of said shower. This wasn’t necessarily true when you were trying to run from your own thoughts, as Dave was. He didn’t spent very long in the shower, then dressed in jeans, two pairs of socks, a long-sleeved shirt, and the warmest sweatshirt he owned. He parked himself, hair still dripping, in the cozy armchair in the corner of his room opposite both the bed and the door: right by the window, the best angle for watching the rapidly lightening sky over the slowly awakening docks.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, just staring at the sky, waiting for the sun to rise, but by the time he was startled from his blissfully thoughtless reverie, the sky was powder blue, the docks were humming with activity, and Dave’s unshielded eyes were aching something fierce.

A soft knock at the door was what broke him from his trance. “Prince Dave?” called an attendant, rather timidly, Dave thought.

“Come in,” Dave called back.

The door cracked open, followed by a gasp as the attendant jumped back in alarm at the sight of the fallen chandelier. _You don’t even want to_ know _what it looked like before_ , thought Dave.

“Yeah, that’s a whole thing,” Dave said, picking his way around shattered glass towards where his shades and circlet sat on his nightstand. “What is it?”

“Uh… th—there’s…” The attendant took a moment to collect herself. “There’s a Maid of Time requesting your audience.”

Dave froze. _Maid_ of Time? Just how many [insert title]s of Time _were_ there in this fucking city?

The attendant continued, “She said that you will want to hear what she has to say.”

Dave doubted that. “Right.”

“What should I tell her, your Highness?”

He shrugged. “Bring her to the sitting room. Bring coffee and apple juice, too.”

The attendant nodded. “As you wish.”

 

As it turned out, coffee and apple juice didn’t really go that well together. Dave really needed the coffee for the caffeine, though, and he needed the apple juice for the fact that it was apple juice—no further explanation needed.

The attendant had also brought in a plate of bagels and cream cheese, which was nice of her, because after the first bite, Dave found he was hungrier than he’d realised. He’d put away three bagels, a glass of apple juice, and was halfway through his second cup of sugar-saturated coffee before he decided he was ready to hear what his guest wanted. She seemed okay. She’d just sat there sipping sugarless grass-water whilst he appeased his gut, his need for caffeine, and his psychological dependency on apple juice.

“So,” he began, sitting back on the loveseat, “Maid of Time, huh?”

“That’s right,” the Maid replied, smiling. “I tend to prefer Aradia, though. Sounds less formal.”

“Right.” His eyes drifted towards Aradia’s horns. “So…” he repeated. “The ram horns… is that a time thing?”

Aradia looked nonplussed for a minute, but then she let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, no! Well, not to my knowledge, at least. I’m guessing you’ve met my sister, Damara? A version of her, at least.”

Dave sat up straight. “Your _sister_?”

She nodded. “Twin, actually.”

“ _Twin_?” Wait, hold on, that didn’t make sense; Aradia couldn’t be any older than Dave was, but Damara had most definitely been.

“It’s a Time thing,” Aradia said. “You’ll get used to it.”

Yeah, no, Dave really didn’t think he would. “Why are you here?” he asked cautiously.

“To help you,” Aradia said cheerfully. “You, Prince Dave, are something that no one has ever seen before. My purpose, for now, is to help you gain control of your powers. It only makes sense, doesn’t it? A Maid helping a Knight?”

Okay. Okay. Alright. This wasn’t what Dave wanted to hear a few hours after waking up to his own dead body. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear _ever_ , but now was a particularly bad time.

“I don’t have any powers,” he said blankly. “So I don’t need any help.”

Aradia smiled serenely and tilted her head. “Both you and I know that’s not true, Dave.”

He stood and turned away from Aradia, crossing to the window, resting his palms on the windowsill. It was a beautiful day outside.

“I don’t know what you and your fucking sociopath of a sister expect me to do, but I don’t give a shit, okay? I don’t want any part of this.”

He heard Aradia sigh. “You don’t have a choice,” she said. “Look: your brother didn’t choose to be the Prince Regent. Your sister didn’t choose to be a Seer of Light. But they play with the hands they were dealt.”

Now it was Dave’s turn to sigh. He turned to face her. “Well, that doesn’t make me feel like the biggest piece of shit in the kingdom or anything.”

She shrugged. “I’m just saying, we all have our roles to play. As heroes of Time, it’s _essential_ that we do our piece. It’s predestined. We can choose not to, sure, but that’ll only end up creating a network of doomed timelines in which everyone dies in myriad horrific ways.” She sounded way too cheerful about that—anyone that could sound cheerful when talking about horrific death was not someone Dave was desperate to be friends with.

Aradia stood. “As a Maid of Time, I _serve_ Time. It’s my purpose, as I understand it, to fix doomed timelines before they can occur.”

“And that’s why you’re here,” Dave guessed. “You’re saying if I don’t agree to join Time Travelers Anonymous with you and psycho-who-caused-every-bad-thing-in-my-life-so-far, I’m gonna cause a doomed timeline and die.”

“You are a Knight,” Aradia explained with a grin, “you are on the frontlines. You are constantly at the mercy of doomed timelines. Practically every decision you make is a potential doomed timeline.”

Well that sounded just peachy. “No fuckin’ pressure.”

She smiled and stepped towards him. “I’m not from the future, so I don’t have all the answers for you, Dave. I don’t have any answers except what little information I’ve gotten from Damara, which… isn’t much. She’s not very forthcoming.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

“I know this much, though: there’s something coming, Dave. Something big. Bigger than a feud between kingdoms.”

“Well. There is a war going on with the Furthest Ring, too,” Dave pointed out.

“It’s barely even started yet. The demons can be killed with analogue means, but the war can only be won through people like _us_. Heroes.”

Well if that didn’t just sound like the cheesiest fucking superhero movie plot pitch in the world. Christ on a pogo stick.

Dave scrubbed a hand over his face. “So what do you want from me? A fuckin’ training montage wherein you are my sensei, teaching me how to avoid ending up with a fuckton of dead Daves on my bedroom floor?” He mulled over the idea. “Actually that sounds like a pretty good fuckin’ idea.” Less dead Daves equalled more happy Daves. Or at least more alive Daves. Or at least just one alive Dave—that was a good place to start.

Aradia smiled. “I figured we’d start with the basics of temporality.”

“What.” Dave blinked. He was getting really fucking tired of all the chicks in his life just… _knowing_ things.

“It’s a Time thing,” she said. “You’ll get used to it.”

ARADIA: that’s all y0u needed t0 say

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually had this chapter written since I published the last, but I wanted to wait until I was prepared to continue before I published it, as an assurance to myself that I would return to this project. I've spent the last week actually reading through this entire fic on here, trying to reignite my interest for it. It worked! It also helped that the credits came out the day after I started reading through it. How serendipitous! 
> 
> As of now, I haven't actually yet written any other chapters, but I feel okay about publishing this now because I _did_ do a lot of work on the plot today, so I feel quite assured that I'll keep going. ;) I'm also going to go through chapter by chapter and fix up some minor errors that I noticed while reading (missing particles, mostly). I feel quite embarrassed about them, so if you spot any in this chapter please do let me know. :(
> 
> I should also mention that all of those cute animal stories in the comments last chapter were the best thing ever and made me feel a lot better, at the time. So thank you. <3 And here's to hoping that it's not too long until I update again! (/ouo)/


	23. Good Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She hated being sober because when she was, she worried about everything way too much. Right now, she was particularly worried about Dave—he had_ not _been okay last night._

**i.**

When Roxy woke up, she was, admittedly, a _little_ confused as to why she was in Dirk’s quarters, curled up in a nest of blankets on his too-comfortable-to-be-legal couch. The sunlight streaming in through the foot-wide crack in the curtains had been what had woken her up, falling right across her face and reminding her brain that she should probably have a hangover, just like most mornings.

She sat up, ducking out of the sun’s gaze. “Fucking Christ…”

She noticed the empty space on the couch beside her and her heart jumped—she was pretty sure Dave was supposed to be there. _Had_ been there, when she’d last been conscious. She glanced around the room, and, upon not finding any hidden Daves, lurched across the couch to slap Dirk awake.

“What?” Dirk groaned, swiping her hands away.

“Dave’s gone!” Roxy told him.

Dirk blinked and sat up, looking at the mess of blankets on and around the couch, the slightly open curtains, the otherwise empty room. “Good observation, Rox. He’s not here.”

Roxy stared at him. “Is that all? Dirk! That kid just had the fright of his fucked up little life last night—you saw how he was. Now we don’t know where he is, and you’re okay with that?”

Dirk frowned, running a hand through his severely deflated hair. “He’s probably just gone back to his own quarters.” He reached over to the coffee table and picked up his circlet. “I’ll message him, alright? Don’t panic.”

Roxy sighed and collapsed back on the couch. “I need a fuckin’ drink.” Dirk just rolled his eyes at her. She wasn’t kidding, though—she really did need a drink. She hated being sober because when she was, she worried about everything way too much. Right now, she was particularly worried about Dave—he had _not_ been okay last night. For a good five minutes after she’d brought him inside he’d been _way_ spaced out. Then, when he’d finally seemed to have snapped out of it, he’d apparently forgotten telling poor Rose to effectively fuck off not thirty seconds before. Roxy was pretty sure that qualified as shock. Not that she could blame him; she was pretty shaken up herself, after seeing alternate-reality Dave splattered across the carpet. That was another reason why she needed a drink: so she could get _that_ mental image out of her head.

“Has he replied yet?” she asked.

“Give him some time,” Dirk said. “Maybe he fell asleep.”

She stood, struggling to extricate herself from the tangle of blankets. “Maybe we should go check.”

“Rox.”

“His quarters are just down the hall, it would be easy to—”

“ _Roxy_.”

She stopped. “What?”

“I’m worried about him, too,” Dirk sighed, “but squashing him with our magnitudes of concern isn’t going to help him feel any better.”

He had a point. Roxy hated it when he had a point. “Fine.” She crossed to the curtains, pulling them all the way shut and throwing the room into shade. Much better.

Dirk watched her. “You look like shit,” he pointed out.

She didn’t doubt it. “So do you,” she replied, and she wasn’t lying.

The tiniest little smirk flickered across Dirk’s face.

“What did Feferi say to you last night? When you escorted her out, like a proper gentleman.” She sat down with her back to the curtains. They were warm from the sun.

“Nothing too much. She said Dave was okay, physically. No… infringements on his life force or whatever.”

Roxy nodded. “Good.”

They were silent for a moment. Coffee and Baileys was what Roxy decided she really, really needed right now. Oh, god, yes, that would be so good. With extra Baileys, too.

“He’s in the sitting room,” said Dirk.

“Huh?”

“Dave. He replied. He’s in the sitting room, with… a guest.”

Roxy stood. “A guest?”

“A guest.”

As it turned out, Dave was indeed sitting in the sitting room with… a guest. Even with his shades on, Dave just looked _exhausted_ , slumped over in the loveseat on the far side of the room, staring down into his mug of coffee. Roxy didn’t blame him.

As she and Dirk walked in, the _guest_ seemed to be delivering… a lecture?

“—Of course, paradoxes don’t have to exist independently of each other. It would totally be possible for a causal loop to _cause_ a grandfather paradox, meaning that the grandfather paradox is, in turn, instrumental to the causal loop. Except, in a regular causal loop you remain in the same timeline. In a grandfather paradox/causal loop mergence, you could have any number of timelines which are essential to each other’s existence and to the wholesomeness of the alpha timeline. Oh! Hello there!”

The guest, ram-horned and with a strangely unnerving grin almost sunnier than the day’s weather, leapt up and offered a hand for Roxy to shake. Dave looked up, but otherwise made no reaction.

“My name’s Aradia Megido,” the guest said, shaking Roxy’s hand and moving on to Dirk, “Maid of Time. I’m here to help your brother with his burgeoning abilities.”

“ _Maid_ of Time?” Dirk muttered.

“I joined Time Traveller’s Anonymous,” said Dave flatly.

“Wow,” said Roxy. “Good luck with that.”

 

**ii.**

Despite not being directly involved in the truce negotiations between Prospit and Derse—that is to say, not _present_ in Derse and at the negotiation meetings—Terezi had, nonetheless, had an eventful week. Eventful. Yes. That was certainly one way to put it. After Vriska had updated her on the Karkat Situation, she felt it was the appropriate time to go off the grid for a while.

That had been the plan at least: to take all of her holiday days at once and become invisible. It’s easier to investigate when no one knows what you’re up to.

Except, somehow, Gamzee always seemed to catch her out. Every time she thought she’d caught a good scent, tracking him into what was undoubtedly the Makara Underground Lair, he somehow _knew_ and led her into a dead end.

By Tuesday, she wondered if it had anything to do with Gamzee’s powers. He’d said he was a Bard, and Terezi chose to take that literally—so somehow he was allowing for the destruction of whatever aspect he pertained to by… thwarting Terezi’s every attempt to catch him out. It was infuriating, and every time she turned a corner in the deserted streets of the lower town, only to have her nostrils filled with human alcohol, sopor slime, and rotten-bone stoner grin, she was hard-pressed to restrain herself from smashing Gamzee’s smelly head against the wall. Partly to cover up all the awful smells with the sweet scent of grape jelly, and partly because…

She was _not_ still waxing caliginous for him. She wasn’t. This was just run-of-the-mill anger; hatred; frustration. Terezi wasn’t one to delude herself. If there was any shadow of a doubt about that, she would take herself off the case. Of course, that would then mean there would be no one left on the case, which was a problem, but… Wow, being a one-troll private detective agency was hard.

On Wednesday, she was sitting on the grass in the palace’s open-air courtyard, soaking up the home-baking smell of morning sunshine on the damp earth; the assorted fruity flavours of the ever-blooming flowers (apparently they were magic flowers—they bloomed all through wintertime); and, of course, the delicious sweet green tea scent of the grass. On the fringes was the ever-present smell of the marshmallow-white walls, with their sweetcorn accents and gildings. She liked to sit here when she needed to think—there were a lot of different scents, but they were all pleasant, and none overwhelming.

She caught a whiff of peanut butter and heard the faint sound of wheels creaking and crunching over grass.

“Tavros,” she said by way of greeting, turning to face him—approximately. Terezi’s smell-o-vision was more accurate than anyone’s, but there was (as reluctant as she was to admit it) a tiny margin of error. “What are you doing out here, in the courtyard, on this fine, sunny Wednesday?”

“Uhh, hey, Terezi,” said Tavros. “Actually I was, uh, looking for you.”

This caught her interest. “Oh?”

“Yeah… uh, you told me to tell you if I saw, uh, anything suspicious?”

“Yes?”

“Well, uh… I saw, uh, Kurloz, uh, going into Mituna’s room.”

Terezi raised an eyebrow. “Really, now? Why?”

She heard the shifting of fabric that suggested Tavros was shrugging. “He was only in there for, uh, a few minutes. Then he came out. I, uh, had to roll away really fast so he, uh, didn’t catch me!”

Terezi hummed. “Well, Tavros, I believe this is certainly something that warrants further investigation.” What did the older Makara want with Mituna? She knew they had some sort of pale-quadrant history, but she also knew that Latula wasn’t particularly fond of that fact. Then again, Latula was quite protective of her mustard-scented matesprit—especially since his accident. No one who actually knew what happened that day on the battlefield liked to talk about it, and Mituna was unable. Terezi wasn’t sure if even Sollux knew exactly what had occurred.

“Uh, I guess…” Tavros agreed uncertainly.

What they found in Mituna’s room wasn’t particularly startling, but it was… odd. Usually, Mituna was full of incomprehensible energy, always leaping around and getting himself into trouble—it often took as many as four palace staffers to calm him down enough to go to sleep at night. As Terezi and Tavros approached the room, however, Terezi couldn’t hear anything from within—no jumping around, no shouting or incoherent mumbling.

They went in. Mituna was there, in his room—Terezi could smell the faint mustard seed scent of his jumpsuit. Right now, however, it was less of a jumpsuit and more of a… sitsuit. He was just sitting there, in his milk chocolate chair by the window, completely still; completely quiet. She could even hear his calm, even breathing.

“Mituna?” she asked cautiously.

Mituna didn’t reply, but she heard a faint snuffle of acknowledgement.

“He, uh, seems kinda out of it,” commented Tavros.

Terezi frowned. This wasn’t right. Even if Kurloz and Mituna were still moirails, there was no way Makara’s pacifying influence could be this effective and last this long after he’d left. Especially if he was only here for a few minutes, as Tavros had said.

Then she caught it. The very faint but hard-edged bitter scent of sopor slime.

“Tavros,” she said. “Don’t mention any of this to anyone, got it?”

“Uhh, okay?” said Tavros. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve caught the scent again,” she said, and despite the severity of the situation, she couldn’t help but smirk to herself.

On Thursday, Terezi had barely stepped over the palace threshold before she was cornered by a suspicious blueberry by the name of Aranea Serket. Obviously, Aranea’s cousin Vriska was Terezi’s moirail, but Terezi wasn’t quite as fond of the older Serket. Not that she had any particular problem with her, it was just that Aranea didn’t seem _genuine_ : all of her actions and her friendly demeanour seemed to mask some hidden agenda. At least with Vriska, you got what you paid for—she knew that she was a manipulative bitch, and she didn’t try to hide it. Terezi had a lot of respect for that.

“I know you’re up to something, Terezi,” was how Aranea greeted her. “You’ve taken all your holiday days in one go, and yet I keep seeing you around the palace.”

Terezi grinned. “I like the palace,” she said. “Is it such a _crime_ to enjoy it without worrying about roundtables and politics?”

“Terezi,” Aranea said, and by the tone of her voice Terezi could tell she was trying on a friendly grin. “Whatever you’re trying to do, let me help you.”

“Aranea,” Terezi giggled, “I think _you_ might need to take some of your holiday days. I can smell the stress coming off you from here. It smells like chlorine and almond oil.”

Aranea refused to relent. “I saw you and Tavros yesterday.”

Terezi’s grin dropped. “How much did he tell you?”

“Everything.” There was that Serket™ Smugness. To be fair, it even irked Terezi when Vriska did it.

“You cheater.”

“The Queen knows you’re up to something, too.” Clearly, _this_ Serket wasn’t very good at keeping secrets.

Terezi chose to stay silent. That was her right, in an interrogation—and this was definitely feeling like an interrogation.

“She’s not angry,” Aranea clarified. “Nor am I. I told you, I merely want to help you achieve whatever end you’re striving towards. It’s instrumental that, whilst negotiations are going on in Derse, those of us remaining in Prospit do our part to keep our side of the kingdom running smoothly and efficiently, not just for when the delegation party returns, but also for the sake of not exacerbating an already dreadful situation. In order to do that, we must be honest with each other if there is something that could potentially have a negative effect on the kingdom if it isn’t dealt with in the right manner.”

Again, Terezi stayed silent.

Aranea sighed. Terezi felt the rush of air on her face. “Terezi. I know you’re going after the Makara drug ring.”

Terezi pursed her lips. Why did Aranea always feel the need to meddle in things that weren’t her business? “Well,” Terezi said. “Let’s go see the Queen, then.”

Of course, this week, Queen Jane was hardly ever without the presence of Princess Jade. Unless the latter was studying, of course: from what Terezi had heard from Porrim, the young human was very nicely shaping up into quite a powerful which. She was also, coincidentally, exactly who Terezi had been wanting to see.

“What I don’t understand is why you’ve been keeping this such a secret,” said Jane. Aranea had dragged Terezi all the way up to the Queen’s quarters, where Her Majesty and Her Highness were seated on the inner-balcony (overlooking the courtyard, from about ten floors up—Terezi could just _barely_ smell the fruity magic flowers from here) eating cream donuts for morning tea. Terezi was pretty sure Jane had a speck of cream on her chin, but neither Jade nor Aranea had said anything, and Terezi was blind, so how was she to know?

“It’s somewhat of a personal issue,” she said with a frown, “Plus, it’s easier to _investigate_ something by myself.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” Jane said, “but, being that I can’t do much investigation of my own—being the Queen makes me the slightest bit inconspicuous, you know—I _would_ like to know what’s going on behind the scenes in my own kingdom.”

Terezi could respect that. “Okay then,” she began. “Your mother’s old jester—Gamzee Makara—is the heir to the Makara drug ring, currently headed by Kurloz Makara, former moirail of Mituna Captor, brother to Sollux Captor—everyone’s favourite messenger-diplomat—and matesprit to Latula Pyrope, Lieutenant Commander of the Prospitian Army, and older sister to yours truly.”

She heard Jade let out a breath.

Terezi smirked. “I’ve been meaning to bring down the Makara ring for a while. I figured this week was as good a time as any.”

“Makara,” Jane said quietly. “That’s interesting.”

“It’s _interesting_ that our jester is a drug dealer?” Jade asked incredulously.

“Well, that’s _troubling_ , but what’s interesting is… well. Yesterday, we finally received the report from the coroner.”

Aranea gasped eagerly. “Have they finally given a verdict as to the Queen’s cause of death?”

“Yes,” said Jane severely. “Sopor toxicity.”

The succeeding silence hung so heavy in the air, Terezi could literally taste it. It vaguely reminded her of burning plastic—very unpleasant.

“I don’t understand,” Jade finally said. “I thought humans couldn’t tolerate sopor slime the same way trolls can.”

“They can’t,” Terezi confirmed. “That’s why she’s dead, silly.”

“Then this is very much an issue of the crown,” Aranea said vindictively. “We should put out an arrest warrant for both Makaras, _immediately_.”

“No,” Terezi said. “Not yet, at least. If we arrest them too soon, we’ll never learn the truth.” She tapped her head. “You can trust me on that. Personally, I want to know why Kurloz has been bringing slime to Mituna.”

“Wait, back up,” said Jade. “What?”

Terezi sighed. “Yesterday, Tavros saw Kurloz going into Mituna’s room, and saw him leave again after a few minutes. I went to investigate, and Mituna was completely sedated—which, from the first, is unusual. And I’m certain I could smell sopor.”

Jane hummed. “I trust your nose, Terezi. What do you want to do?”

Terezi turned towards Jade—she wasn’t hard to locate, in her frilly sour-lime dress. “Are you able to shrink an audio-receiver small enough to hide in Mituna’s room?”

 

As it turned out: yes, Jade _could_ shrink an audio-receiver small enough to hide in Mituna’s room that night, after Mituna had fallen asleep. Being unimpeded by darkness, Terezi did this part herself, hiding the cute little mini-receiver behind one of the legs of Mituna’s bed.

On Friday, she, Aranea, and Jade spent most of the morning sitting in Jade’s extremely fruity/flowery-smelling quarters listening to the audio stream on the other end of the receiver. This was the boring part, but, luckily, they didn’t have to wait too long—from when Mituna woke up, he spent a lot of the time muttering incoherently to himself, swearing a lot, and (it sounded like) whacking his head against the wall? Sometime before midday the door creaked open and closed and Mituna fell silent.

The silence lasted for quite a while.

“Kurloz is mute,” Aranea hissed, as the three of them huddled around the receiver. “What did you expect, Terezi?”

“Shh!” Terezi shushed Aranea—and with good timing.

“P-p-p-parad-d-d—,” came Mituna’s uncharacteristically quiet, warbling voice from the receiver. “P-parad-dox.”

“Paradox?” breathed Jade.

“Un-un-un,” stuttered Mituna. “Under-n-neath. Th-the… _Paradox_.”

“The Paradox,” repeated Aranea.

Through the receiver, Mituna went quiet, and the door creaked open and closed once again.

Jade shut down the line. “The Paradox,” she mused. “Underneath. What does it mean?”

“I have no idea,” Terezi admitted.

“We should tell Her Majesty,” Aranea suggested.

“I’ll message her,” Jade said. “It’s easier if we can keep in contact remotely, right?”

“Yes,” Terezi agreed. “In the meantime, we should check the Athenaeum’s old records for any mentions of… The Paradox.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Aranea, to Terezi’s surprise. “He said… ‘underneath’. I assume you’re thinking the same as me—that he could be referring to something under the city.”

“Exactly.”

“How’d you come to that conclusion?” Jade questioned. “He could have meant ‘underneath’ anything. Like… underneath the ocean, for example!”

“There’s an old Troll proverb,” Aranea explained, “from nearly five hundred years ago, when Trolls were new to Earth and still lived in a segregated society. ‘The most valuable things are buried deeper than gold.’ Assuming, in this case, that Prospit City is the gold. Both literally and figuratively.”

“Wow,” breathed Jade. She giggled. “So this has gone from a drug ring/murder investigation to a treasure hunt, all of a sudden?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Terezi said. “Trolls and Humans have very different definitions about what the most valuable things might be.”

“Indeed,” Aranea agreed, her voice tight.

However, even with Porrim’s help—though they didn’t give her any details, and, having plenty of tact, she didn’t ask—they couldn’t find anything in the Athenaeum’s old records about anything called ‘The Paradox.’

“It doesn’t ring any bells,” Porrim said, watching them scour through pile after pile of old scrolls and dusty, falling-apart books. The Athenaeum had a pleasant, vaguely soothing papery scent to it, but all this dust was making Terezi sneeze up a storm and _seriously_ hindering her ability to smell the words properly. She _would_ resort to licking them, but she’d agreed not to—she’d been banned from the Athenaeum before for licking the pages, and the condition of her being allowed back in was that she kept it exclusively to sniffing. In situations like this, however, that stipulation proved very difficult to keep to. “Do you know if it’s a place, a thing, a concept?”

“Well, it’s a concept in the literal sense—”

“Underneath,” said Jade, interrupting Aranea before she could go off on whatever she was planning to go off on. “That’s our other keyword.”

“Underneath? Hm. Yeah, sorry, I can’t think of what that might be referring to. I can ask some of the Priesthood if they’ve—”

“No, don’t,” said Terezi. “This investigation was _supposed_ to only be between me, myself, and me.”

She could practically hear Aranea rolling her eyes.

“I see,” said Porrim. “Well, I won’t tell anyone I saw you, then,” she promised.

“Much appreciated,” said Terezi, grinning. Then she sneezed again.

“Bless you!” said Jade. Terezi liked Jade well enough, but right now she was very tempted to thwack the girl across the head with her cane.

“Have you talked to Kanaya?” Porrim asked. “You just said you don’t want to involve too many people, I know, but she has access to all of Derse’s records for the time being. Might be worth taking advantage of.”

Porrim had a point. “Maybe,” Terezi agreed. “If we don’t find anything by tonight I’ll recruit her.”

They didn’t find anything by that night, so Terezi logged into Trollian for the first time since her conversation with Vriska. Even if she was strictly contacting her for business reasons, it was nice to catch up with Kanaya—she seemed to be enjoying herself in Derse, which Terezi hoped was an indicator of how things were going with the negotiations.

Now it was Saturday, and Terezi, Aranea, Jade, and Jane were lounging around in Jane’s Queen-sized quarters, trying to decide what to do next. Terezi was incredibly tempted to go against Jane’s orders and continue _her_ investigation on her own—the way it should have been in the first place.

“Maybe there’s nothing else we _can_ do for now?” Jade suggested. “Maybe Rose and Kanaya will find something. We just need to wait a while!”

Terezi hated that idea. “The mystery about The Paradox is one thing,” she said. “The Makara drug ring is another. They’re linked, yes, but not inextricably.”

“What are you suggesting, Terezi?” asked Jane.

“I think our next course of action should be to investigate whether or not the Queen’s death was accidental.”

“And whether or not it was an assassination,” Aranea added.

“Perhaps.”

“How are we supposed to do that? By arresting the Makaras?” wondered Jade.

Terezi thought about it. “No.” Arresting them both had a one-hundred percent probability of getting more than one person killed—she wasn’t sure who, how, or why, but she had the feeling it had a lot to do with Kurloz. Kurloz Makara was the unknown quantity here; no one in their circle of information knew much about him, but in the expansive rumour mill of Prospit’s lower city, he was known to be capable of some scary things—up to and including chucklevoodoos, if Terezi’s suspicions were correct. And they often were. Kurloz was the unknown quantity, and unknown quantities would always skew the probabilities wildly out of their favour. “We need to leave Kurloz alone for now.”

“But he’s the _leader_ of the ring,” Aranea pointed out.

“It won’t end well if we go after him,” Terezi said. “I can Smell it.”

Jade laughed. “The Smeller of Mind has spoken.”

Terezi had to grin at that one.

“So we go after Gamzee, then?” asked Jane. “How do we know Kurloz won’t retaliate, if we do?”

Terezi’s grin vanished. “We don’t,” she admitted. “Kurloz isn’t an addict, but Gamzee is. If we cut him off from his supply by arresting him…” She could See it—not in a literal way. She could smell the phantoms of potential bloodshed, coating the walls of the prison—humans, trolls, prisoners, guards: all dead. And Gamzee, soaked in all the colours of the rainbow, standing at the dead end, _waiting_ for her…

Terezi’s powers were rarely so specific. It wasn’t good news if they were.

“What if I…” Aranea began, then trailed off. “Well, we can’t be sure it would work.”

“What?” asked Jane.

“I think I could cure his addiction,” said Aranea, “with my Sylph of Light abilities. I’ve never tried to heal something like that before, but it can’t be much different from healing blindness, or hallucinations. Right?”

“One of those is physical and the other is mental,” Terezi pointed out. “Sopor addiction is both.”

“Right. So, it’s the same, but with a little more. If I target the same two areas and restore them to their best potential states, it should work—or even if I have to focus on them separately, and I don’t see why I would. What does _that_ idea Smell like, Terezi?”

It still smelled like bloodshed, but so did every possible path pertaining to Gamzee. There was no away around it. However, cutting Gamzee off only had a five percent chance of any form of success. Curing him of his sopor addiction had a ninety percent chance of them at least getting _some_ of the information they wanted.

Terezi was certain of the differing probabilities, but that didn’t mean she knew _why_ they were so wildly different, or _why_ she saw so clearly what would happen if they cut Gamzee off, compared to if they cured him. She Saw very little of that path, in fact, and even less of the outcome. Often the foggiest paths ended up being the best decision, however.

“Smells fine,” she said.

ROXY: good luck w/ that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed Terezi. Writing a blind character is really hard but really fun at the same time because with Terezi you can just describe most everything in terms of scents. Which is awesome because I like to think I have a pretty good sense of smell myself. I mean, hey, I _am_ a Libra. ;D
> 
> In terms of writing, I'm settling back into this story quite nicely! (Forgive me if this chapter is a little rusty on the characterisation.) _Thank_ you for all the lovely comments last chapter, they really helped me remember why I love doing this. I mean, I love the writing part, obviously, but the reception is the payoff, in a way.  <3
> 
> OH AND WE'RE OVER 100,000 WORDS HOW DID THIS EVEN HAPPEN??


	24. Nope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After hearing Aradia go on and on and_ on _about timelines and stable loops and paradoxes and all manner of bullshit which was probably covered in_ Time Travel for Assholes _, the prospect of actually_ doing _something was almost refreshing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings are tricky because potential spoilers, so hover your cursor **here** for a minor warning.

**i.**

It was Sunday. For a Sunday, it wasn’t very sunny. All the curtains in Dave’s quarters were open—Aradia insisted upon it for some reason—and outside, the clouds were keeping up a persistent drizzle. The sky looked grey and depressed and uninterested and like it just couldn’t be bothered being _blue_ and _sunny_ and whatever on a god damn _Sun_ day. Like, fuck that. Fuck conforming to the names of the days of the week and being sunny on the day that it’s supposed to be sunny. Nah, man. Rain. Rain all day.

Dave had never related to the sky so much before. There was a first for everything, he supposed. For example, he’d never been awake for over thirty-six hours before. He’d never had this much coffee in such a short time before. He’d never drawn this many shitty comics in one night before—not sleeping had the potential to be very productive.

“Dave, you’re not listening to me, are you?”

He looked up from his tablet. “Nope,” he said truthfully.

Aradia sighed. “Alright, I know listening to me prattle on can get a little taxing—”

“A _little_?”

“—So I was thinking we could start exploring the extent of your abilities!”

Dave didn’t reply for a moment. He was a combination of terrified and intrigued—because, you know, it had just gone _so well_ the last time he’d ‘used’ his ‘powers’. But at the same time, after hearing Aradia go on and on and _on_ about timelines and stable loops and paradoxes and all manner of bullshit which was probably covered in _Time Travel for Assholes_ , the prospect of actually _doing_ something was almost refreshing.

He sipped his coffee then set the mug down on the floor. Why didn’t he have a coffee table? That was kind of a problem. “Okay.”

A frown flickered across Aradia’s face, but it only lasted for the faintest second before she smiled encouragingly and glanced around the room. “Ah! This will do.” From the top of the bookshelf behind Dave, she picked up the unused diary. It had been there when Dave had moved in, ready and waiting for him to write in all his appointments and shit. He had no plans to use it. Aradia opened it to a random page and set it on the couch beside him.

“The third of June,” he read.

“It’s not significant,” said Aradia. “Although, it _is_ rather fitting for our first experiment to be on an artefact which directly pertains to timekeeping and time management.”

Dave had never been any good at time management, so it was kind of ironic that Time was apparently his aspect. He didn’t have enough energy to fully appreciate it, unfortunately, and he still couldn’t help but be incredulous about the whole _powers_ thing.

He put the tablet down on his other side. He hated to stop right in the middle of drawing an epically shitty comic, but needs must, he supposed. “So what the fuck do you actually want me to do?”

Aradia pursed her lips. “Well, all we know of your class is that you’re a Knight—I _am_ sorry I don’t have more detail than that, Damara’s not exactly… well, talkative.”

“The opposite of you, then.”

“Absolutely! The moniker ‘Knight’, however, has a lot of implications to it. Class names aren’t strictly accurate descriptors of abilities, but they give a lot of clues—like my own title, Maid. Or your sister’s title, Seer—she is a see-er of Light, as it were. Light of course referring more to fortune than to literal light.”

Dave rolled his eyes behind his shades. More lecturing. Just what he wanted. Bitches were lining up to give him lectures these days, it was nothing short of exhausting.

“The title ‘Knight’ implies… well, a lot of things. Bravery, of course, and strength, both of which could bode _very_ well in the wielding of any aspect. Knights could be… defenders! Although the implication there is that you _defend_ Time, which, literally, would be far too similar to my own purpose of _serving_ time.” Aradia shot him an apologetic look. “But anyway, I think exploring what you can do will help us decide what else you might be capable of, and where you stand in relation to your cosmic purpose.”

_Cosmic purpose_? Okay, he wasn’t even going to _ask_ about that one.

“So the first thing I want you to do is try to isolate Time. And you’re going to do that by ageing this diary.”

Dave frowned, first at Aradia, then down at the book. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that?” he asked. “Do I just, like, wave my hands about like I’m Gandalf the fuckin’ Grey or something and _command_ the book to be old? Stab it if it disobeys?” Look, Time powers notwithstanding, he always had his first-rate skill with the sword to fall back on.

Aradia laughed. “The hand-waving probably isn’t necessary, but if you feel that physical contact with the book will help you, then by all means.” She stepped back, nodding at the diary laying on the couch cushion next to him, as if to say, _all yours_. How considerate of her.

Dave took off his circlet, first of all. He couldn’t log out of pesterchum for some reason—probably for security purposes, like, just in case someone needed to contact him _super fucking urgently_ —so he had put it into offline mode. It had been going off like crazy this morning, with messages from just about everyone on his chumroll. Like, _damn_ , the minute he decided to take a break they all wanted him. Typical—they didn’t know what they had ‘til he was taking a break because reasons, then they desperately missed it. He couldn’t blame them. In any case, the occasional _plink_ of an incoming message was distracting, so he figured it best to go without.

He reached over and picked up the diary in both hands, feeling irritatingly self-conscious. He still didn’t know how Aradia expected him to do anything to it—there was no specific _trigger_ he could think of that had made him go all Time-ninja before. Except maybe stress. Like on the balcony. And after speaking to the Witch—the fucking _sister_ of the cheerful crackpot troll currently standing in the middle of the room, staring at him expectantly. He wondered if there were any shards of glass still embedded in the carpet from the fallen chandelier.

He was pretty stressed out right now, actually, so this should really be no problem. Admittedly, no sleep and too much coffee tended to do that to a person—lowered energy, lowered mood, lowered fucking everything except heart rate and blood pressure which was probably _elevated_ because that was what caffeine tended to do. Then again, it was also supposed to give him energy, and it didn’t. It kept him awake; that was barely it. He _missed_ sleep. He barely even remembered why he was so _fucking_ afraid of it—more accurately, of waking up. He’d had some vague notion that he needed to wait until he could _control_ whatever this was until he could risk it again, but staring down at the pristine pages of this diary ( _June 3 rd June 3rd June 3rd_), he knew that it was impossible. He had no _shadow_ of a clue as to how he was even supposed to—

_Tickticktick._

Dave jolted as if someone had pressed a live wire to the back of his neck. The diary jumped out of his hands and landed closed on the floor.

“ _Fuck_.” White spots danced in front of his vision and a pressure in his sinuses made him feel lightheaded.

Aradia darted towards him, but rather than checking to see if he was okay, her first concern was the diary—naturally. She flicked through the pages. It was a little worn, but otherwise not much different.

Well, look at that—he’d succeeded. Sort of.

Aradia looked up at him, frowning. “You’re still resisting it, aren’t you?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “What? I did it, didn’t I? Sort of?” He felt something wet on his upper lip, and when he went to wipe it away the red smear drew a stark contrast to the pale skin on the back of his hand. What the fuck was this, _The Butterfly Effect_? Was he literally Ashton Kutcher right now?

“The amount of power you just exerted should have turned this into _dust_ ,” Aradia explained.

Aw, shit. Really?

“Well, I don’t fucking know why it didn’t,” said Dave a little testily, getting up to fetch a tissue from the box by his bed. One good thing about being in the palace was that he never ran out of consumables—tissues, soap, shampoo, toilet paper. Always well-stocked.

“Neither do I,” Aradia admitted quietly, running her thumb down the spine of the diary.

Dave didn’t say anything. He sat on the edge of his bed, pinched his nostrils together with a handful of tissues and tilted his head back. Man, the psychic nosebleed was _unrelenting_.

“Let’s have a lunch break,” Aradia eventually suggested, standing up and offering Dave that characteristic grin of hers. “Come down to the Dusk Hall with me.” Yeesh, she’d familiarised herself with the palace’s amenities fairly quickly. Well, Dirk _had_ tentatively told her to “make herself at home,” so. She had. Dave wondered if she’d used her own creepy-ass Time powers to help with that. Probably. Oh, great, now he was _paranoid_ about whether or not his Good Samaritan troll-teacher was using time travel to gain an advantage over him and everybody else.

Dave Strider, everybody: the _absolute fucking picture_ of mental health, all day every day.

He was pretty much fucked.

“Nah,” he replied, a little nasally. “Not hungry.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Aradia’s grin melt, but she didn’t say anything.

As soon as she’d left he closed his curtains again, blocking out the rain, the grey sky, and the world.

 

**ii.**

“Whale now, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Karkat looked up, scowling. “Wonder why that is.”

Commander Peixes sighed and shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “I manta come see you schooner, alright? Ceasefire or no ceasefire, shit’s been all varieties of crayfish. The demons are acting up, and even with most of our troops from the Prospit front recalled, we’re still overreached as fuck.”

Karkat blinked, unsure as to why all of this was being explained to him. “So?”

Peixes sighed. “Look, Nubs. I know there ain’t none of this that’s any fault of your own. You’re even more of a victim than our old frond Prince Shrimp, seeing as he’s now living in the lap of luxury and you’re here. But by sunrise tomorrow you’ll be headed to the same place, so no one can really complain if I decide to take mercy on ya and let you stretch your fins a bit.” She smirked. “Not that they’re in any position to argue against me anyway, they know I’d just smack ‘em one. But it’s typically a better idea to at least _try_ get along with your immediate subordinates.”

It took a second for what Meenah was saying to sink in properly. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re letting me _out_?”

She shrugged. “Seems so.”

For once, somehow, the universe seemed to be on Karkat’s side. He and Meenah emerged from the tent—the first time, for Karkat, in nearly a fucking week—into the blissfully dreary, non-sunny weather.

Karkat let out a very vocal sigh and turned his face skyward. Okay, so he wasn’t too much a fan of rain, either (though this was the barest dribble), but the cool, fresh air (as fresh as air can be on a battlefield, at least) and wide open spaces (disregarding the organised chaos of the various tents and soldiers wandering around) were veritably fucking _heavenly_ after spending nearly a week in a six-by-six foot cell.

Meenah watched him, cackling. “You ain’t otter the deep end yet, Nubs.”

Karkat looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t I mention? Your early release is conditional!”

“ _What_?”

“You didn’t expect to get to just glub around all day, did ya? Of course not. There’s a mission to be done, McNubs, and you’re gonna kelp.”

 

Not ten minutes later and part of Karkat was wishing he was still in the cell. He would be getting the fuck out of there tomorrow anyway, and that would be the end of it—but no. It could never possibly be that fucking simple, not for him.

First, Meenah took him to the supply tent to retrieve his shitty sickle and shitty ill-fitting military uniform. God, he hated this thing. As soon as he finally escaped this hellhole, he was _never_ wearing purple again. Then, she lead him over to the command tent, where a small platoon (somewhere around twenty soldiers) milled about, all geared up and ready for combat; weapons sheathed or slung about them. They stood to attention as Meenah approached, and Karkat joined them.

Here is where he should have been given a fucking medal for incredible self-control: with all the stares and glares and not-very-well-hidden mutters of “…Prospitian…” and “…traitor…” it took a lot of willpower for Karkat not to punch at least _one_ of these assholes in the fucking face. Like, god _damn_.

“At ease,” Meenah said, rolling her eyes. “This is a bit of a different mission today, prawns, but _very_ finportant. In fact, you cod say that it might be _essential_ to our eventual victory over those horrible-terrible fuckers from the Furthest Ring.”

That caused a mutter to break out across the platoon, which at least distracted them from muttering about Karkat.

Meenah grinned, but it was a more restrained grin than her usual piranha sneer. “Come on, then.”

Rather than leading them out towards the front lines, as everyone evidently expected, she turned and lead them through the door-flaps into the command tent. This sent up an even larger wave of muttering, although as everyone started forwards, some of this _was_ about Karkat. They all gave him a fairly wide berth, which was _totally fucking fine_ by Karkat.

All except one.

“Karkitty!” he heard behind him. He didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was, but he did anyway.

“Nepeta,” he said flatly.

“Ohmygosh, I can’t be _lieve_ they let you out! I’m so happy they did, though! And I’m so happy we get to fight togefur again!” Nepeta gushed.

“Yeah,” Karkat responded. “One last fight. That’s exactly what I fucking well need.”

Obviously he was being sarcastic, but Nepeta didn’t seem to pick up on that fact. “That’s the spirit!”

She stood next to him and purred contentedly as they all assembled in the command tent around a small, dusty hatch.

“Well, water you waiting for?” Meenah pointed at the tall human cadet who was nearest the hatch. “Jump in there!”

The human looked startled, but obeyed, approaching the hatch as one might approach a wild beast. It took a couple of yanks, but the hatch came open in a cloud of grey dust. Everyone craned forward to try and get a glimpse at what was down there. It was pitch black.

“Don’t worry, it’s not too far down,” Meenah assured them impatiently. “Just make shore you move otter the way when you hit the bottom so you don’t get landed on.”

The human hesitated a second longer before jumping down. The rest of the platoon followed. Meenah stood there grinning as soldier after soldier disappeared into the pitch-black hole in the ground. Karkat hung back—resultantly, so did Nepeta—waiting to be one of the last to jump down. He wouldn’t put it past one of these bastards to not wait long enough before following him, just so they could kick him in the fucking head with the force of gravity behind them. Yeah, no thanks.

Eventually it was just Meenah, Karkat, and Nepeta left in the tent.

“Go on, then,” Meenah urged.

Nepeta giggled and gladly jumped through the hatch, yelling “Whee!” all the way down.

“This isn’t some sort of kinky fucking punishment chamber for soldiers who break the rules, is it?” Karkat had to ask. You know. Just to make sure.

Meenah burst out laughing. “Only one way to find out!” She indicated the hole again.

Scowling, Karkat stepped up to the edge, looking straight down. It was just pure _darkness_. He could hear the distant murmur of subdued conversation from the rest of the platoon. He looked up to ask exactly _how_ far down it was, but never even got the chance to open his mouth before Meenah placed an open hand between his shoulder blades and shoved him in.

“Fuck!” he yelled out briefly, but the fall was shorter than he expected. It can’t have been more than a few feet, really. Regardless, having been caught off guard, he handed on his hands and knees.

Nepeta came over to help him up. “It’s weird in here,” she commented, and she wasn’t wrong.

Despite it having looked completely dark from above, the cavern Karkat, Nepeta, and the rest of the platoon found themselves in was, whilst not exactly lit, possible to see in. The walls themselves, dark grey and faintly glistening, seemed to be emitting some sort of soft light. Combined with trollish night-vision, visibility was one-hundred percent. When Karkat looked up, he could just faintly see the shining white light of the hole they’d all jumped down— _way_ more than a few feet above their heads.

“That’s one fuckin’ word for it,” Karkat agreed.

Meenah gave Karkat a few seconds to move out of the way before jumping down the hatch herself, landing with considerably more grace and barely even straightening all the way before barking out her orders: “Right then, you bunch of guppies! Squad one, allocate a four-fish rear guard and three for the front guard. The rest of you get in shark formation: we shoaldn’t run into much trouble along the way, but we need to be ready for anyfin down here. I’ll take point, obviously.” With her facing away from him, Karkat noticed the weapon slung on Meenah’s back alongside her trident: a large gun, somewhat resembling a sniper rifle, except its barrel more closely resembled something of a nozzle. It was the same mysterious weapon Meenah had used to put the demons to sleep on Karkat’s first day in hell—two weeks ago. Felt like an eternity.

“What’s that for?” he asked as Meenah turned to him and Nepeta.

“Experimenting,” she answered. “You,” she pointed at Nepeta, “have to keep old McNubs here safe. The Prince Regent’ll have my gills if he ain’t delivered to Derse in one piece tomorrow.”

“Aye aye, Commander!” Nepeta assented, far too cheerfully.

“Hold the fuck up,” said Karkat. “If there’s a chance of me coming out of this in _less_ than one piece, why the fuck did you bring me here?”

Meenah shrugged. “Glubs and bubbles, I guess.”

Then she walked off to take her place at the front of the pack.

“ _Fucking_ sea dwellers,” Karkat cursed.

“Aw, she just doesn’t want you to get hurt,” Nepeta reasoned.

“That still doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Karkat pointed out. “I’d be safer in that dank-ass fucking cell.”

“You… would rather still be in there?”

He didn’t answer.

The cavern they’d all literally dropped into (wait, how were they supposed to get back out?) tapered into a single, linear, tunnel, which they all filed into in shark formation—which pretty much just meant front-guards and rear-guards and everyone ready for shit to hit the fan, which included not being too bunched up in the tunnel. There were a good six feet between each row of two or three troops.

They were walking for about twenty minutes down the same tunnel—there were no offshoots, crossroads, _anything_ to diversify—when it started to widen out again, into a cavern even taller and wider than the first.

_Here_ was where all the offshoots were: seemingly hundreds of them, massive black openings in the walls, ceiling, even a couple in the floor.

“Stingray formation,” Meenah called smoothly. Her voice echoed sonorously throughout the chamber, making one voice sound like many. It was pretty fucking unnerving. “Weaprawns ready.”

The platoon spread out, covering all ground wall to wall right at the mouth of the tunnel they’d barely emerged from, behind Meenah and the front-guard.

In the ensuing silence, Karkat adjusted his grip on his sickle, watching Meenah. She was stock-still, listening for something. Karkat had ended up in the safest position in the formation—the very middle. It was only a little reassuring: the atmosphere in the massive cavern was decidedly tense, though clearly no one was sure why.

Then another sound, a sound far more unnerving than Meenah’s voice, echoed through the cavern—a low, guttural growl.

Meenah’s head shot up. “On me,” she said quietly, readying the strange gun and starting towards one of the largest tunnel openings, on their left.

They all followed, staying in formation. The troops around the exposed edges of the formation had the job of keeping an eye on their surroundings and raising the alarm if they needed to. Except, there seemed to be an extreme difficulty that even Karkat could identify—nothing could be seen beyond the tunnel openings. Just like the initial hatch, beyond them was utter blackness.

As they approached the tunnel opening Meenah had identified, that low growl echoed through the cavern again—louder, this time; loud enough to just barely shake the floor under their feet. Karkat had no idea how Meenah knew it was coming from this opening, because it sounded like it was coming from everywhere at once.

Meenah stopped, taking one hand off the weapon for the briefest moment to signal everyone else.

Karkat adjusted his grip on his sickle again. Every vertebra comprising his posture pole bristled with tension. His blood-pusher thudded so loud in his ears it was a wonder he could hear anything else.

From the darkness of the tunnel entrance emerged a single leg. A tapered, jointed, carapaced insect leg, at _least_ five feet tall at its highest point, and as black as if it were just this minute being formed by the darkness it emerged from. Then another leg. Then came the head—eight wet, beady black eyes set above two writhing grey _fucking tentacles_ where on a normal spider there would have been fangs.

Karkat expected Meenah to blast it in the face right that second, but she didn’t. The horrible-terrible demon had already emerged halfway from the darkness when the first leg of another appeared beside it. Still, Meenah did nothing. The first demon emerged fully to reveal an upwards-arching stinger, more in the style of a scorpion than a spider.

Okay, great, so they were facing at least two spider-scorpion-tentacle demons, and Karkat had _no fucking doubt_ that there were probably hundreds more in the tunnel beyond these first two.

The demons moved slowly, as if they knew Meenah had something planned for them. Even so, a palpable nervous energy hung over the platoon: Karkat wasn’t the only one wondering why Meenah wasn’t doing anything, and he undoubtedly wasn’t the only one who wanted to shout at her to _fucking blast it in the god damn face already_ , but didn’t for fear that any noise would provoke the monster to attack.

Meenah waited until a third jointed leg started to emerge from the tunnel before she braced the rifle against her shoulder, aimed the nozzle, pulled the trigger and yelled, “ _NOW!_ ”

A silvery substance, somewhere between spray and gas, burst forth from the rifle nozzle, catching the first monster full in the face and sending it reeling with a low-pitched screech that shook the whole cavern. In the same instant, the platoon surged forwards, the troops on the front descending on the first demon the moment it crashed to the cavern floor, unconscious, but not dead. The second monster fell, too, and the third, and other thuds resounding from inside the tunnel spoke of just how far Meenah’s mystery gas had reached. The soldiers all flowed into the tunnel, slicing off tentacles and slitting the throats of the fallen monsters—just to make sure they weren’t getting back up again. The tunnel was narrow enough that the troops in the front half of the formation were able to do most of the work, slicing and dicing as they went and leaving everyone else to look on in awe at the effect of this new weapon.

Eventually, they ran into a dead end—all the demons in the tunnel were slain. Karkat had to wonder; if the tunnel was a dead end, where had the demons come from in the first place? But even he had to join in as a great cheer rang up all the way up and down the tunnel. Beside him, Nepeta jumped up and down with joy.

“It’s incredible!” she shouted at Karkat. “Meow those monsters don’t have a _chance_ against us!”

No sooner had the cheer died down than a horrible, bloodcurdling scream ricocheted down the tunnel from the very back of the pack.

Closer to the front, which, somehow, was where Karkat found himself, everyone fell silent.

“What’s goin’ on?” Meenah demanded, pushing her way back through the soldiers crowded into the tunnel. From the direction of the tunnel entrance were the sounds of combat, and then came that same horrible growl from earlier.

“Everyone out!” Meenah ordered. “Now, go! Go!”

Suddenly everyone was in a mad hurry to backtrack, out of the dead-end. If they were cornered in there by demons, Karkat realised, they were all fucking _doomed_.

“Oh, fucking son of a fucknozzle!” he said out loud.

He could hear Meenah further up, fighting her way to the front (previously the back) of the pack. “Why the _fuck_ did no one raise the fucking _alarm_?!”

The various demon corpses proved to be an obstacle, and Karkat found himself slipping in sticky black blood as he was forced to scramble over one such carcass, blood pumping with fearful anticipation as to what they might find back in the cavern.

They emerged from the tunnel into complete anarchy.

Demons were _everywhere_ —and Karkat wasn’t sure if that was because there were a lot of them, or if it was because these things were prodigiously fucking _massive_. They were well over three times the size of the spider-demons, with long snouts full of razor-sharp teeth longer than Karkat’s forearm. They had four stumpy, armoured legs, which weren’t much to write home about beyond their elephantine sturdiness, and long, swishing tails which resembled barbed wire more than anything anyone should ever expect to see on any _living_ creature.

The most unnerving part, of course, were the tentacles. The tentacles were always the worst part. On these demons, they sprouted from their backs in two clumps, sort of like wings.

The Stingray formation had long since dissolved. Now, everyone was just fighting for their lives—and already Karkat could see at least four mangled corpses, one hanging from the mouth of one of the demons, ripped almost completely in half by those horrible teeth.

“Holy fuck,” Karkat squeaked.

Meenah was suddenly beside him.

“You need to get the fuck otter here!” she yelled at him. “Get him out!” he told Nepeta.

Nepeta nodded firmly.

“Use that magic mist thing again!” Karkat demanded. “Your troops are fucking _dying_!”

“It doesn’t work like that, Nubs,” replied Meenah. “It needs a refill.”

“A fucking _refill_?”

“It’s too much to explain right now! Just get _out!_ ”

And with that, she pushed him in the direction of the tunnel they’d taken to get here, and ran off, trident in hand, to free a soldier who was currently being squeezed to death by a full-body tentacle cocoon.

“Karkitty, come _on_!” Nepeta called desperately. If even _Nepeta_ sounded desperate, you knew it was a bad situation.

Reluctantly, Karkat took off behind her, but their path was almost immediately blocked by an armoured black leg almost the width of a tree trunk. Four or five tentacles shot towards Nepeta, who severed them neatly and, in the same movement, left three long slices along the demon’s unarmoured flank with her ‘claws’.

The demon wheeled around, jaws snapping. Karkat bounded forwards, wildly swinging his sickle and just barely catching it across the snout. Up close, those teeth were quite possibly the most terrifying thing Karkat had ever seen in his life.

The monster went for him, snarling mouth wide open. Karkat just barely threw himself out of the way before those jaws snapped shut over empty air, far too close for comfort.

He ran around the monster’s side, towards Nepeta, who was furiously fending off tentacle after tentacle as it came at her. Oh, fucking great—these things could multitask, taking on one victim with the head and another with the tentacles. _Fuck!_ Not to mention that tail, which was battering and scraping the wall of the cavern as if trying to cause an avalanche. The effect was that the floor was continually shaking—which gave the demons the definite advantage, if their prey couldn’t keep their balance.

The most disturbing thing was that as many tentacles as Nepeta was lopping off, they simply seemed to keep coming. As he ran, trying not to stumble on the rumbling floor, Karkat chanced a look towards where the tentacles sprouted from the monster’s back. His suspicions were immediately confirmed, causing a fresh wave of fear to boil in his stomach, even breaking through the shield of adrenaline. This was _not good:_ for very tentacle that Nepeta severed, a new one began to emerge from the tangle on the monster’s back.

The brief moment of distraction cost him dearly. He turned forwards again only to see a single tentacle shooting towards him, giving him no time to react before coiling around his neck, stopping him dead in his tracks.

His sickle dropped to the floor with a faint clatter as both his hands came up to claw at the slimy, oily tentacle twisted around his neck, pushing against his breathing tubes. His feet left the floor. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good. He couldn’t breathe— _fuck_! He was starting to panic. White and red and black spots danced in front of his eyes as the tentacle constricted further and further; he started to lose feeling in his hands, his feet… everything became dim.

Vaguely, he could hear someone calling his name.

The tentacle loosened, and he crumpled to the floor. He inhaled great gulps of stale cavern air, coughing and hacking and desperately disentangling himself from the severed tentacle.

He looked up, still coughing, vision still blurred: a few feet in front of him, Nepeta stood, covered in oily blood, still fighting off tentacles. As Karkat watched, one caught her off guard and lashed her across the back, sending her sprawling with a cry onto her front.

Before she had time to recover, the monster’s great jaws were headed straight for her.

Karkat tried to scramble forwards, despite knowing it was futile. “ _Nepeta!_ ” he croaked, reaching out towards her with a single useless hand.

Pain cleaved through his head, like a single spike between his eyes and out the back of his head. Colours danced in front of his vision—candy red, olive green, oily black.

It only lasted for a second. When his vision cleared, his think-pan reeling, the monster was crumpled on the cavern floor. Nepeta stood, shoulders heaving with breath, staring down at the demon’s severed head.

“How the—the fuck…” muttered Karkat, before the world tilted and disappeared.

 

It seemed only seconds later that he was awake, staring wide-eyed up at the canvas ceiling of the medical tent.

“What the fuck,” he said, and was irritated to find that his voice was still weak and scratchy from nearly having had the life squeezed out of him. He sat up.

“You’re alive!” came Nepeta’s voice from beside him. He looked at her. She was grinning her usual way-too-fucking-happy-for-this-situation grin, and seemed okay other than the sling on her left arm.

“Of course I fucking am,” he replied moodily, looking away in favour of examining the extent of his own injuries.

Magically, he, too, was still in one piece—other than the residual soreness around his throat and neck and a weak headache, he was entirely uninjured.

“You saved my life,” Nepeta said quietly.

He looked up at her sharply. “What? No I didn’t. You saved _my_ fucking life, dumbass.” He swallowed painfully. “I was busy being fucking strangled like the useless piece of shit I am until you cut me loose.”

She shook her head vehemently. “I mean after that, when I was about to become monster kibble. You… _did_ something, and it killed the demon. Cut its _head_ off.”

Karkat blinked. Alright, clearly she’d hit her head or something—though he didn’t see any visible wound. “I thought you did that,” he said blankly.

“No,” Nepeta insisted. “I was on the ground. You called out to me and then… Well, I didn’t actually _see_ what happurred…”

“It was probably someone else, then, fucking obviously,” said Karkat. “I was on the ground, too, asshole. Then I passed the fuck out from air loss or whatever.”

A nurse poked his head in through the curtains before Nepeta could say anything further. “Oh, you’re awake, then? Good, your injuries are superficial so we need you out of here before our next patient comes out of surgery.”

Good to know they cared, really. A-plus for hospitality, Dersian Army. A-fucking-plus.

Outside the medical tent, dusk was falling.

“You should purrobably go find the Commander,” said Nepeta, a little forlorn. “She’ll be happy to know you’re okay.”

Karkat turned to her. “I guess.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Fucking finally.”

Suddenly he had an armful of annoyingly optimistic cat-troll, somehow managing to give him the most uncomfortable bear hug (cat hug?) of his life with only one arm.

“I’ll miss you,” she said as she pulled away, eyes brimming with translucent olive tears.

“Uh,” said Karkat, quite eloquently. “Yeah. Thanks. Maybe we’ll see each other again someday.”

She smiled brightly and nodded eagerly. “Hopefully!”

 

He found Meenah in her private tent, set a little apart from the rest of the camp—just one of the perks of being the commander, Karkat supposed.

“What the fuck happened in there?” was the first thing he demanded.

Meenah smirked at him, feet up on her desk (which was strewn with all manner of paperwork—why was there fucking paperwork involved in war?) and leaning back in her chair. Even she seemed a little subdued, however. “Nofin that was supposed to happen,” she admitted. “We don’t know a whole glubbin’ lot aboat those tunnels just yet, except that they’re full of horrorterrors and virtually unnavigable beyond that cavern.”

“Horrorterrors?”

“That’s the offishal name for the demons.”

“Unnavigable?”

Meenah nodded. “All of those tunnels leading off that cavern? Every single one we’ve explored so far has been a dead end.”

“Then where the fuck are the… _horrorterrors_ coming from?”

She shrugged.

Karkat sighed and threw himself down in the chair facing her. “The breach two weeks ago. That was from those fucking tunnels, wasn’t it?

She nodded.

“What about that weapon?”

“Top secret.”

“Seriously?”

She smiled serenely and changed the subject. “I wanted to porpoise something to you,” she began, lowering her feet and leaning forwards over the desk. “What you did in those caverns was pretty fuckin’ impressive, lopping that thing’s head off without even touching it.”

What? What was _with_ these morons today? “I didn’t fucking do that,” he said forcefully.

“Yeah, okay, shore, Nubs, its head just _fell_ off. I’m a Thief of Life, so I’m familiar with these sorts of powers and I know what they look like.”

_Powers?_ Okay, this was just getting fucking ridiculous. “I don’t know what you’re _fucking_ talking about!”

Meenah was silent for a moment, gazing at him impassively over the top of her steepled fingers. “If you wanna stay here and fight with us,” she said, “I can give you a rank promotion and access to cell-based communications.”

He stared at her.

“I don’t give a shit that you’re from Prospit, Vantas. You’ve more than proved yourshellf to me. So water ya say?”

It literally wasn’t even a fucking decision he needed to think about for more than half a millisecond.

“Fuck. No.”

TG: nope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhhh boyyyyy this is the longest chapter so far. This chapter was my first time writing both Dave _and_ Karkat in over two months. I missed them.
> 
> THERE'S SOME HELLA SHIT GOIN' DOWN THO. Oh and thank you for over 2000 hits <3
> 
> Man I really need to study for my exams. D:


	25. More Convolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Kanaya looked up from the scroll she was attempting to decipher. “Are you quite sure you’re okay, Rose?”_   
>  _Rose sighed. She’d been sighing fairly often over the past two days, and it had gotten to the point where it was concerning. “I’m fine, Kanaya. I’m just irritated, is all.”_

**i.**

GG: Whilst I can’t truthfully say that things have been going completely smoothly, the Kingdom is in good health.  
GG: And unlike the negotiations in Derse, (which are public knowledge, of course,) any troubles we’re having have been kept quite firmly under wraps. Classified information, as it were! :B  
GG: Speaking of the negotiations, are they coming along?  
GT: Er...  
GT: In a manner of speaking yes.  
GG: In a manner of speaking?  
GT: Yes.  
GT: In a manner of speaking.  
GG: ...  
GG: Would you care to clarify, please, Jake?  
GT: Well theyre coming along.  
GT: As in weve all now established what each kingdom wants out of the other.  
GT: And therein lies the issue!  
GT: What a blastedly complicated issue its turning out to be!  
GG: Oh dear.  
GT: The foremost problem seems to be that the dersian council largely consists of fuddy duddy trolls with deliriously antiquated beliefs.  
GT: You know i have an absolutely fizzing admiration for blue pigmented humanoids jane but i believe the kings influence may have rattled the cage on their innate prejudices against any living creatures “below their caste”!  
GT: How much do we even really *know* about derses hooky despot?? Can we say for sure that he hasnt actually brainwashed these councillors???  
GT: Because it certainly seems so! They remain loyal beyond reason!!  
GG: That’s certainly... troubling.  
GT: To say the least!  
GG: But... there is progress being made?  
GT: Somewhat.  
GT: Kanaya and rose have been employing an incredibly ingenious tactic.  
GT: Instead of trying to convince the council that they want a truce with prospit theyve been presenting them with an unimpeachable motherlode of historical evidence to convince them to elevate dirks status to king.  
GG: Oh, my.   
GT: Yes! I believe theyre operating on the suspicion that much of the council would rather not have to make these sorts of decisions. Naturally no one is comfortable with the situation at skaia and not even they can utterly deny the growing need for cooperation between the kingdoms.  
GT: But they are a prideful bunch so nor do they want to outright assent to a truce.  
GT: The solution: assuage the necessity to take one stance or the other! Put the supreme decision in the hands of the people who are *able and willing* to make them.  
GG: In other words, Dirk.  
GG: And by extension, the rest of us.  
GT: Indeed!  
GG: That certainly is an interesting approach, if somewhat of a convoluted one.  
GT: Well you know what they say jane...  
GT: Fight convolution with more convolution!  
GG: Um... not sure I’ve ever heard that one before, but I’ll take your word for it!  
GT: The only problem is that the council also isnt too keen on what they perceive to be the unseating of their king.  
GT: However at yesterdays council we were actually at somewhat of a stalemate!  
GT: ...Which doesnt sound like a good thing but compared to almost every other meeting last week it can definitely be labelled in big bold letters as PROGRESS.  
GG: I trust you and the others to bring us to the best solution possible, Jake. You have two Seers and a Sylph on your side, after all.  
GT: We have the upper hand for sure!  
GT: At least that is what we have to keep believing...  
GT: So jane what is this thing happening at home that isnt going completely smoothly?  
GG: Oh, that. Well!  
GG: The Queen’s cause of death came in, and it’s... well, complicated matters, to be sure.  
GG: I shan’t say much here, though I would love to tell you absolutely everything.   
GG: The four of us have agreed to keep it under wraps as much as possible.  
GG: And I wouldn’t want to worry you! I would say you have enough on your plate as it is.  
GT: Er... yes it would certainly be folly for me to deny that.  
GG: Although, while I have you here I should tell you: the kingdom’s publicist has suggested that you and I marry once the negotiations are over.  
GG: To further legitimise my status as Queen, and also to give the people something to celebrate. Something of a metaphorical representation of the new union between kingdoms, and an unspoken assurance that everything will be fine and dandy in the end.  
GG: You and I both know it’s nothing as simple as that, but... I’m not the Public Relations expert, here.  
GT: Egad...!!  
GT: Must the wedding really be so soon??  
GG: Well... I suppose not.   
GG: Why, Jake? You haven’t fallen in love with some blue-blooded Dersian maiden, have you?  
GT: No!  
GT: *Sweats profusely!*  
GT: Of course i havent!! Hahahaha why would you think that!!!  
GG: Relax, Jake, I’m only pulling your leg! ;B  
GT: Hahaha...  
GT: Yes of course.  
GT: As always jane you have me completely fooled with your devilish capers.  
GG: Hoo hoo hoo! ;B  
GG: It’s been lovely to catch up, Jake. I do miss you.  
GT: I miss you too!!!  
GT: Of course!!!  
GT: Because why would i not!!!!!  
GG: Um. I don’t know?  
GG: Anyway, I really must be going.  
GG: And I’m sure you’ve got your own affairs to deal with, even if it is a Sunday evening.  
GT: No rest for the wicked!!!!!!  
GG: Indeed not.  
GG: Good luck, until we get another chance to talk!  
GT: Yes!! Thank you!!!! You too!!!!!!!!!  
GG: :B  
  
\-- gutstyGumshoe [GG] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--  
  
\-- golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--  
  
GT: Roxy!!  
GT: My favourite madame!  
GT: I do so urgently need your assistance with something.  
GT: A rather... delicate issue.  
GT: And also a rather private one.  
GT: But i have a great deal of trust in your sense of discretion of course so i have no qualms about coming to you for aid!!  
TG: jjaaakkkkkeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy  
TG: is dis abotu how mncuh uyou wnat to bone my brotherr??????  
TG: the older 1 ofc  
TG: dirky  
TG: the iyonger 1 is OFF LIMITSSSS  
GT: Erm.  
GT: Well.  
TG: FUCK that was a lot of typois  
TG: k hol fup  
TG: *........  
TG: k cant b fuekd correctying them awl  
GT: ...Roxy?  
TG: dats ME  
TG: yeh wat u want jakey  
TG: u need sum datin advices  
TG: fukin GOTCHA COIVERD  
TG: *covered  
GT: Ok...  
GT: Well...  
GT: It really is quite difficult.  
GT: Ive just finished having a conversation with jane you see.  
GT: And she mentioned that she wants us to tie the knot practically as soon as our little dersian delegation party returns to prospit!!  
GT: As much as i do in fact love and care about jane i really feel incredibly apprehensive about such a union for a darn smoldering syllabus full of reasons!  
GT: The current primary and most pressing reason now of course being...  
GT: Well...  
GT: Certain *feelings* that ive been attempting to navigate for the past few days.  
TG: baidcally ur in loved w/ my big brlo  
TG: *basicaly *bro  
GT: !!!  
GT: Im not sure i would go so far as to say that!!  
GT: Theres certainly *something* there. As you have so astutely pointed out.   
GT: Although im not sure how or why you know in the first place because i cant imagine dirk being so forthcoming with such er... details!  
TG: o jakey   
TG: he dun need 2 b  
TG: i raed mind ;)  
GT: Erm. Right.  
GT: My worry is that my pandoras box full of variously sinister apprehensions and reluctances may be the reason why some subconscious part of me is clinging to what it sees as a potential escape from all of the implications and ramifications that come with marrying jane and becoming the king of prospit.  
GT: And if that should turn out to be the case i would hate for these... *episodes*... to impact negatively on the broship between dirk and I!  
GT: I should very well hate to hurt him...  
GT: Certainly he has enough to be getting on with.  
TG: hmmmmmmmmm  
TG: HMMMMMMMMMM  
TG: jaek u shuld no  
TG: i am  
TG: SO fukn drnk rn  
GT: Really? I hadnt noticed! *Sarcasm.*  
TG: ik ik im v good at hidn it  
TG: n e way  
TG: hav u even TLAKED to dirk latly>??  
TG: *talked   
TG: *lately  
TG: th typois keep hapenin jeke  
GT: Er yes we have TALKED but...  
GT: Not about this.  
GT: He did promise me that we would have a proper old powwow at some point but i can only imagine that hes been preoccupied.  
GT: What with negotiations and the council and whatever dreadfully spooky happenings are occurring concerning your younger brother.   
GT: I can imagine that would distract anyone.  
GT: But all the same...  
TG: jakeu jakey jakey  
TG: u cnt jus WATE 4 thing 2 occur  
TG: u gotta go n  
TG: grab drk by that stoic fukn mouth a his  
TG: nd tELL HBIM WHAT 4  
GT: ...  
GT: I suppose that is one way to solve that problem...  
TG: OK FFS JAKE  
TG: LOOK AT IT THS WAY:  
TG: EVN IF DERS AND PROSPTOI MAKE TRUCE  
TG: WE MITE ALL STILL DIE  
TG: BC DEMONS N SHIT  
TG: SO THRE AINT NO FUKEN TIME  
TG: TO HESTITEAT ABT SHIT LIK THIS  
TG: SHTI  
TG: FUCK  
TG: HOW TF DO I TURN CAPS LOK OFF AGEN???  
GT: I... I guess you do have a point there roxy.  
GT: Not even to mention the fact that my time in derse is limited so i might as well do and say what i feel needs to be done and said!!  
TG: YE  
GT: Thank you roxy! Youve been a great help!  
TG: NP BUDY  
GT: I suppose ill see you at dinner tonight! *smiles*  
TG: YE  
GT: Ta ta for now!  
TG: BUBBYEeee  
TG: o ther it is  
  
\-- golgothasTerror [GT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--

 

**ii.**

Kanaya looked up from the scroll she was attempting to decipher. “Are you quite sure you’re okay, Rose?”

Rose sighed. She’d been sighing fairly often over the past two days, and it had gotten to the point where it was concerning. “I’m fine, Kanaya. I’m just irritated, is all.”

Well, that was interesting. Rose had gone from “worried” to “very concerned” to “mildly annoyed” and now to “irritated.” She’d been distracted the whole time, barely making her way through three scrolls yesterday and hardly two today, and replying very succinctly to Kanaya’s attempts to make conversation.

It was after nightfall, not that they would really know it without a clock. Sequestered as they were on the top floor of the Temple’s Archives, surrounded by ceiling-high shelves, there were certainly no windows within their line of sight. They commandeered the large mahogany table in the centre of the labyrinth of shelves. Scrolls and books were strewn out in front of them—it wasn’t a simple matter, reading an historical scroll; one often found themselves in severe need of some translation aid, or an explanation of some sort of reference that no longer held any relevance five hundred years in the future.

Kanaya was sat at the head of the table, and had been making rather good progress through a particularly lengthy and wordy scroll detailing the dissolution of the alliance between Prospit and Derse. The original contention which had never been resolved, despite no one knowing (any longer) its true cause, and which was still causing a great deal of grief in the very present moment. It was quite incredible to imagine that if not for the events in this scroll, Kanaya would likely not be here at this very moment. She wondered if she should perhaps be grateful.

Rose, meanwhile, was sitting sideways in her chair; elbow on table; chin resting on fist; facing away from Kanaya. Kanaya could tell from the faint flicker of a holoscreen in front of the Princess’ face that she was messaging—or trying to message—someone, but clearly not having much luck, given the amount of sighing she was doing.

“If you want to go try and talk some sense into him, I don’t mind staying here alone,” Kanaya suggested. She would, of course, always _prefer_ company, but she decided she liked Rose better when she wasn’t sighing and acting incredibly distracted.

Sighing again, Rose turned to sit properly in her chair. “No, it’s fine, I’ll stay. He won’t want to see me, anyway,” she added bitterly.

Kanaya folded her arms on the table top. “I know it isn’t really my business, since, despite our fast friendship, we’ve only known each other for a week. But if you wish to talk, I’m more than willing to listen.”

Rose looked up at her and offered a tiny, grateful smile. “Thank you, Kanaya. I may take you up on that offer at some point, but for now I think I need to put it out of my mind.” She straightened in her seat, stretching briefly. “We haven’t really made any progress this weekend, in part due to how distracted I’ve been. I apologise for that. But it would be nice to have _something_ to present to the council tomorrow.”

Kanaya was quiet for a moment, observing Rose’s countenance. She looked very tired—even more so than usual, her complexion a shade lighter, the rings around her eyes a shade darker. “Yes,” she agreed. “Kankri believes we may be very close to convincing them.”

They returned to the scouring of their respective scrolls. As luck would have it, the very next section of Kanaya’s held something interesting.

“Rose,” she said suddenly. “Remember how I mentioned to you yesterday that a friend of mine asked us to keep an eye out for any mention of something called ‘The Paradox’?”

“Yes,” Rose replied. “I haven’t found anything that might be even remotely related, though. Have you?”

“I believe I have.” Kanaya grinned. “Here, look at this section—the rest of the chapter before it mainly talks about a particularly powerful demon that wrought havoc upon the kingdoms just as troll and human societies shifted into a period of integration. The Prospitian Queen at the time had a plan to thwart the demon, and… well, you can read it.”

Rose leaned over to have a look at the section Kanaya indicated.

Regardless of King Cynemær's disapproval of the plan, Queen Theokleia knew, with the extreme certainty only afforded to those of Cosmic Inclinations such as Prospit’s much beloved matriarch, that the temporary prison in which the Dæmon was sequestered would not hold for much longer. Despite being aware that such an action would sever all ties with Derse for the foreseeable future and beyond, Queen Theokleia recruited every Wielder of Cosmick Energy devoted to the safety of the Kingdom and set them working on a permanent penitentiary to hold the Dæmon for the remainder of Eternity.

Once the Prison was completed, it became Alive. Its walls were so imbibed with Cosmick Magicks that not even those who had helped to create it could navigate it. More than half of the Wielders of Cosmick Energy the Queen had recruited to help build this Prison disappeared close to its completion, never to be seen nor heard again. It was when Queen Theokleia heard of this that she knew the Prison was ready for its intended occupant. She recalled the Wielders of Cosmick Energy and instructed them to transport the Dæmon from its place of temporary confinement in Prospit’s dungeons into its Living Grave.

The Writer of this scroll must here inform the Reader that none of the Wielders of Cosmick Energy involved in the transportation of the Dæmon survived the event, therefore there are none alive to relay the truth of the event for this Writer to record for the benefit of the Reader. The closest the Writer can offer the Reader is the most commonly accepted myth throughout both Prospit and Derse: Queen Theokleia alone emerged from the Prison entrance, once the Dæmon had been transported, and sealed the Prison with a complicated and powerful Cosmick Spell. Later, Queen Theokleia delivered a speech to the people of Prospit, the full transcript of which has only recently reached the shelves of the Grand Temple of Derse, twenty-two years following its original delivery.

The transcript reads as follows:

“Noble people of belovéd Prospit,  
There is a version of these tragic yet necessary events  
That has happened in a mirrored reality of our own.  
The mirrored reality is as necessary to our own reality  
As we are to it  
For that which bears no reflection does not truly exist.

Noble people of belovéd Prospit,  
You are safe.  
Our former allies in Derse are safe.  
The Cosmos itself is safe,  
For one could dig a hundred thousand miles  
And never find any hint of the evil we have worked so hard to quell.  
These tragic events have happened, and they have not happened.  
The Dæmon exists, and it does not exist,  
And the only one with the power to unparadoxify these circumstances  
Stands in front of you, noble people of Prospit,  
Having just worked so hard to paradoxify them in the first place.

Sleep soundly, noble people of Prospit,  
Knowing that The Paradox will forever keep you safe.”

The day after delivering this speech, Queen Theokleia came down with a terrible fever, and died within the week.

“Interesting,” Rose muttered under her breath. “Does the scroll say much more about this Demon?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Kanaya informed her. “It very literally describes the Demon as ‘indescribable in its terribleness’.”

“Well, that’s useful.”

“I thought so, too.”

Rose sat back in her chair. “The Paradox,” she mused. “What _is_ it, really?”

“It’s not particularly clear,” Kanaya said, skimming through the next few paragraphs of the scroll. “There’s no further mention of it here. The writer implies that most of what Queen Theokleia said was due to the fever induced by the incredible expenditure of her powers.”

“That could be true,” Rose admitted reluctantly.

Kanaya looked up. “Does it seem important to you?”

“Absolutely,” Rose answered without hesitation. “Do you know why your friend wanted you to research it?”

“Not particularly,” Kanaya admitted. “She merely mentioned it as something to do with an investigation. I may scan this section to see if she can derive any deeper meaning out of it—she likely knows something we don’t.”

“Perhaps, though I have a few theories of my own.” Rose hummed, then smiled. “I’ll let you know what I’m thinking as soon as I’m certain of it myself,” she promised. “For now, let’s just say that once these negotiations are over, I may need to visit Prospit. For… clarity’s sake.”

Kanaya smiled back. “I’d be more than happy to be your guide, of course.”

 

**iii.**

John didn’t know why, but for some reason, the negotiation meetings were later in the day on Mondays. Not that he would have minded having the free time ordinarily, but with the current, uh… _situation_ in the palace, he found himself already quite bored, late in the morning.

He would message Jade, but she’d told him last night that she was going to be busy today, so she wasn’t online.

He’d messaged Dave a few times to see if he wanted to hang out, but he wouldn’t even reply to say no. Apparently Dave wasn’t replying to anyone, though, and the only person who’d talked to him since Saturday morning was that weird troll who’d started hanging around. John kept running into her in the Dusk Hall whenever he went to get food, and he found her intense grin really creepy and unnerving. But apparently she was helping out with whatever horrible thing had happened on Friday night, the details of which John still wasn’t clear on because _no one would tell him anything_! John _was_ starting to get a little bit worried, though.

Rose, meanwhile, was busy being annoyed at Dave and also with her and Kanaya’s research project. John was astounded at how quickly those two had become such good friends; almost every time he’d seen either one of them in the past week, they were never without the other. It was strange, but also cool, and a little touching, too, he guessed? He’d tried joining them yesterday afternoon in the sitting room, for lack of anything else to do, but he’d had _no idea_ what they were talking about; he couldn’t understand a word of the dusty old scrolls they were reading through; and he’d felt kind of like a third wheel in the wake of their brilliant new friendship.

As for the other delegates, Kankri was uncomfortable to hang around with at the best of times, but all morning he’d been pacing in the Dusk Hall, disturbing anyone who was trying to get themselves breakfast. The train carrying Karkat was arriving later today, and he was anxious about it. Personally, John was excited to see Karkat again! It had been a while. Jake was being weird about something, too, but John wasn’t entirely sure what—he just seemed distracted, which made him practically impossible to talk to.

And as for the other Dersian Royals? Well, the Prince Regent, Dirk, seemed like a nice enough guy, but he was also very intense and kind of intimidating. He was also probably very busy. Princess Roxy meanwhile… was lying in a flowerbed in the palace’s back garden, blinking up at the clouds scudding gently across the sky as if it were the most amazing thing she’d ever seen.

“Uh…” said John.

Roxy snapped out of whatever trance she’d been in and looked at him. “Oh, hey, mini-Jake!” She sat up. There were a few leaves stuck in her hair and her circlet was crooked. “Wait, what was your actual name again?”

“My name’s John,” said John.

“That’s riiight! I’m Roxy!” she struggled to stand up.

“Um, yeah, I know.” John offered her a hand up.

“Ooh, such a gentleman! Why thank you, sir!” She stepped out of the flowerbed and immediately stumbled—right into John’s unsuspecting arms. “Whoo-oops!” she started giggling madly.

“Are you— are you okay?” asked John, thoroughly startled and a little embarrassed.

“Nope,” Roxy admitted, straightening up. “I’m like, _really_ drunk.”

John blinked. “But… it’s not even midday?”

Roxy frowned sheepishly. “I knooow.” She was swaying on her feet.

“Maybe you should sit down or something,” John suggested, “before you fall over again.”

“Good idea!” Roxy grinned, then made to sit down right where she was standing.

“No, not there!” John grabbed her elbows and pulled her back up—a little clumsily, since she was practically dead weight. “There’s a bench just over here!”

“Soooo polite,” Roxy mused. “Hey, are you old enough to get married? We should get _married_ ,” she said as John lead her over to the bench in question—which was barely a few feet away, elegant black wrought iron against the dark palace wall.

“Wh-what?” John spluttered. “I’m only sixteen! And we hardly even know each other!”

They sat down. Roxy leaned towards him, a hand on his shoulder. “No, no, no, you don’t _get_ it! If we get married it would be like, the _easy_ way to settle a truce, don’t you _seeee_? That’s what they did _all the time_ in the old days! I mean, like, obviously it would be _preferable_ if Dirk and Jake would get their heads out of their own asses and just get fucking married already, but you and I would be good enough too!”

Wait, what was that about Dirk and Jake? “Um, you _did_ say you were really drunk, didn’t you?”

Roxy sighed and took her hand off his shoulder, slumping heavily on the bench. “Yeah.” She frowned and looked down at her hands, as if ashamed of herself. “I know I shouldn’t be, but I can’t help it.”

“Why not?” John asked incredulously. It couldn’t possibly be _that_ hard to just… _not_ drink.

Roxy was silent for a long moment. “Because I’m pathetic,” she said quietly.

Oh. Great. Okay. John _really_ didn’t know what to say to that. “I, uh… I think maybe you should go have a nap,” he said after a pause. “The Prince Regent probably won’t be happy if you show up to negotiations drunk.”

Roxy giggled. “Nope.”

 

**iv.**

The train ride back to Derse was considerably more comfortable than the one there. Karkat was even given his own private compartment. He felt a similar level of apprehension, but it was a different kind—the first had been apprehension about whatever fresh unknown hell he was headed towards. This time it was apprehension about the slightly-more-familiar hell that was Kankri’s lectures, because undoubtedly he had a fucking _tome_ full of them, ready to deliver unto Karkat’s hearing canals the second he was off this train.

Before he’d gotten on the train, Meenah had met him at the train yard and handed him a manila envelope and a small package.

“Paperwork for the Prince Regent,” she explained, “and a parting gift for yourshellf. It’s been good, Nubs.”

“No it fucking hasn’t,” Karkat disagreed, taking the items.

Meenah cackled. “It’s been terrible, then. Now fuck off.”

Karkat was more than happy to do so, though he had to admit that he’d developed a grudging respect for Meenah. She was okay, he guessed—for a seadweller.

On the train, Karkat opened the small package—the gift. It was a sleek new handheld communications device with cell capabilities, which meant he didn’t need a WiFi connection to use it. There was a WiFi symbol on the wall of his compartment, anyway, but it was still cool. His old comms device was clunky and shitty and outdated.

The Trollian logo glared at him on the home screen when he started it up. Fuck, he hadn’t been on Trollian in… what, a month? Jesus. Well, wasn’t like anyone really cared anyway.

He only logged in because he was bored and didn’t have anything else to do.

…Alright, so maybe people did care. Especially maybe Terezi, who had sent him no less than three hundred messages. Fucking hell, had she messaged him every day?

Apparently.

It took him the better part of an hour to read through every single message, close to a month’s worth of them, with a mounting sense of guilt. Fuck, he hadn’t meant for Terezi to worry about him, or feel like his dumbass decision was her fault or anything.

She wasn’t online at the moment, but he decided he should send her a few messages anyway.

\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling gallowsCallibrator [GC] \--  
  
CG: HEY.  
CG: I’M... SORRY.  
CG: SORRY FOR FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT AT YOU. I THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME.   
CG: NOT THAT I COULD REALLY FUCKING BLAME YOU, WHO WOULD WANT TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH A FUMING BATSHIT SCUMBAG LIKE ME? EVEN I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME, AND I DON’T HAVE ANY FUCKING CHOICE IN THE MATTER.  
CG: BUT I SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SUCH AN IMMATURE DIPSHIT ABOUT IT.  
CG: SO, I GUESS I’M SORRY THAT I MADE YOU FEEL LIKE YOU’D DONE SOMETHING WRONG. YOU DIDN’T.  
CG: AND... I’M SORRY FOR WORRYING YOU. I GUESS IT WAS UNBELIEVABLY SELFISH OF ME TO ASSUME YOU WOULDN’T CARE.  
CG: I’M SURE VRISKA TOLD YOU ALL ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED AT THE CEASEFIRE, WHICH WAS EMBARRASSING ENOUGH, BUT THEN KANKRI OF ALL PEOPLE GOT THE PRINCE FUCKING REGENT TO BAIL ME OUT.  
CG: SO NOW I’M ON A TRAIN HEADED TO DERSE.  
CG: I... GUESS WE MIGHT SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN ONCE THE NEGOTIATIONS ARE OVER.  
CG: THANKS FOR ALL YOUR MESSAGES. THOUGH THEY WERE KIND OF A FUCKING WASTE OF TIME, I MEAN COME ON, TEREZI, YOU HAVE BETTER THINGS TO BE DOING.  
CG: SEE YOU.  
  
\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling gallowsCallibrator [GC] \--

As he’d been typing out _that_ whole pathetic fucking speech, ninety percent of which he immediately regretted, he’d received another message from an unfamiliar-yet-familiar handle.

Oh, son of a fucking shitmonkey.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] \--  
  
TG: yo that train wifi huh  
TG: its slow as shit if i remember correctly but its not like you have anything better to do on a six-hour train ride or whatever  
CG: FUCK OFF.  
TG: whoa  
TG: rude man im just tryna say hey  
CG: YOU’RE MOTHERFUCKING ROYALTY??  
TG: oh  
TG: that  
TG: yeah apparently  
CG: APPARENTLY??? THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN, YOU PIECE OF SHIT?  
TG: jesus dick dude can we stop with the accusations  
TG: do you think that if i had any clue that my ass was royal as fuck, i would have even been on that train in the first place?  
TG: im just as surprised as you are asshole  
TG: more so actually because its kind of a whole fucking thing that ive had to come to terms with while youve been fucking around at skaia getting yourself into more trouble than a god damn rat in the kitchen of some restaurant  
TG: until you discover your secret passion for cooking that is  
TG: and then you make friends with some lowly chef who for some reason can understand your rat screeching   
TG: hes like the rat whisperer or something idfk and also all of his motor functionality is linked to his scalp because how the fuck else are you supposed to turn him into a star  
TG: that part never made any fucking sense to me  
TG: yeah ok wow this metaphor is really getting away from me  
CG: UH, YEAH, IT IS. SHUT THE FUCK UP.  
CG: I’M GOING TO IGNORE THE IMPLICATION THAT WHAT I’VE BEEN FACING HASN’T BEEN 159% MORE FUCKING AWFUL THAN WHAT YOU’VE HAD TO FACE SINCE YOU WERE WHISKED AWAY TO SAFETY LIKE A PRECIOUS FUCKING SNOWFLAKE FOR A SECOND, BECAUSE HOW THE ACTUAL FUCKING HELL DID YOU *NOT KNOW* YOU WERE ROYALTY?  
CG: AND ALSO, FUCK YOU, OKAY? I HAVE NOT BEEN “FUCKING AROUND” AT SKAIA.   
CG: FIRST I WAS RISKING MY LIFE EVERY DICKFUCKING DAY TRYING TO FIGHT ALL MANNER OF BLACK-SHELLED SLIMY TENTACLED MOTHERFUCKING HORRORTERRORS, AS IS APPARENTLY THEIR OFFICIAL NAME, AS IF ANYONE GIVES A SHIT, THEN I WAS TRAPPED IN A TINY-ASS FUCKING CELL WITH NOTHING TO DO EXCEPT STARE AT MY OWN BULGE AND WISH I WAS DEAD.  
CG: MEANWHILE, YOU’RE OFF IN DERSE LIVING IN THE LAP OF LUXURY BECAUSE YOU ARE, ONCE AGAIN, FUCKING ROYALTY.  
TG: im not fucking royalty dude   
TG: i am the royalty  
CG: AARRRGGHH YOU KNOW WHAT I FUCKING WELL MEAN!!!!  
TG: yeah ok alright fine  
TG: and for the sake of the fact that im the most benevolent fucking royalty you are ever going to have the pleasure to have had your trollish grey ass saved by  
TG: i can believe that you havent had the best time in hell  
TG: i mean i know i didnt, despite only being there for less than a day  
TG: i hit my head like twice and its literally fucked up my entire life since then  
TG: at least thats what im gonna go ahead and blame it on  
TG: as for the not being aware of my rightfully elevated status?  
TG: long fucking story  
TG: oh yeah  
TG: and fuck you too man  
TG: ive literally had the worst fucking month of my life and getting clobbered over the head by a demon like a fucking cross eyed twelve year old with no arms trying to play swingball was nowhere even close to the worst of it  
CG: OH WHAT-FUCKING-EVER.  
CG: YOU’RE JUST BULLSHITTING ME SO THAT I FEEL BAD FOR YOU.  
CG: AND IT ISN’T GOING TO WORK, YOU PIECE OF SHIT.  
CG: I WAS LITERALLY NEARLY STRANGLED TO DEATH BY A FIFTEEN-FOOT TENTACLE MONSTER YESTERDAY, AND I STILL HAVE THE CONTUSIONS TO PROVE IT.  
CG: NOTHING THAT YOU THINK IS SO HORRIBLE IN YOUR LIFE COULD EVER POSSIBLY TOP THAT, OKAY?  
TG: sounds kinky  
TG: but ok dude  
TG: whatever you say  
TG: your life is horrible and everyone feels really sorry for you  
TG: congratulations  
CG: ...  
CG: THAT’S IT?  
TG: what   
CG: I GUESS I EXPECTED YOU TO PUT UP A BIT MORE OF A FUCKING FIGHT THAN THAT.  
TG: well jeez  
TG: sorry to fucking disappoint  
TG: im tired ok  
TG: i havent slept in like  
TG: idk two days or something  
CG: WELL THAT’S YOUR OWN FUCKING FAULT YOU MORONIC NIMROD.  
TG: nah man its cool   
TG: its productive  
TG: you wouldnt believe the amount of shitty comics ive been churning out  
TG: oh shit i cant believe i didnt think of this before  
TG: bro if youre curious about the whole thing where i didnt know i was royalty  
TG: here is an accurate representation of some outrageous fuckin events that went down when i got back to derse  
TG: [rosewtf.jpg](https://s26.postimg.org/ckz10jivr/rosewtf.jpg)  
CG: ...  
CG: WHAT AM I EVEN LOOKING AT?  
TG: art  
CG: THIS IS THE SHITTIEST PIECE OF SHIT I’VE EVER HAD THE DISPLEASURE TO VIEW.  
CG: I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO BLEACH MY SEE-GLOBES TO SCOUR THIS MASSIVELY ABHORRENT VISUAL VOMIT’S RESIDUE OFF THEM.  
TG: yeah ok you might be right  
TG: needs more jpeg artifacts ill get onto that asap  
CG: WHO’S ROSE ANYWAY?  
TG: the sis  
CG: ...OH.  
TG: why  
CG: NO REASON.  
CG: SORRY TO HAVE TO BE THE ONE TO TELL YOU THIS, DAVE, BUT YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO FUCKING TALENT WITH DRAWING.  
TG: oh really i didnt get that from your unnecessarily verbose outburst like three fucking seconds ago  
CG: I COULDN’T BE SURE IF YOU’RE REALLY AN IDIOT OR JUST FAKING IT FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR FUCKED UP HUMAN “COMEDY”.  
TG: its called irony fucknubs  
CG: FUCKING WHATEVER.  
CG: IT’S SHITTY AND HORRIBLE AND ATROCIOUS.  
TG: those are all the same thing  
TG: hey man as a reward for saying the same thing in three different ways  
TG: have another comic my treat  
TG: youll like this one  
TG: [actualevents.jpg](https://s26.postimg.org/rfnmepsgn/actualevents.jpg)  
CG: ...  
CG: THAT IS NOT WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED YOU INCOMPETENT ASSWIPE.  
TG: um yes it is  
TG: its exactly what happened  
TG: i remember because i was there  
CG: YEAH, SO WAS I, FUCKER.  
CG: AND I WAS AT LEAST CONSCIOUS THE WHOLE TIME, TOO.  
TG: how do you know i wasnt  
TG: couldve just been faking it you know  
CG: YOU WEREN’T FUCKING FAKING IT YOU WERE OUT LIKE A SLEEPING WIGGLER AFTER FEEDING TIME.  
CG: COMPLETELY NON COMPOS MENTIS.  
TG: are you sure  
TG: did you check  
CG: WHEN THIS TRAIN FINALLY GETS TO DERSE I’M GOING TO FIND YOU, WHEREVER YOU ARE, AND PUNCH YOU IN THE FUCKING FACE FOR BEING SUCH AN INCREDIBLE PIECE OF NOOKSUCKING SHIT.  
CG: SURPRISE! THIS IS YOUR REWARD FOR BEING UTTERLY FUCKING UNBEARABLE!! HOPE YOU FUCKING ENJOY YOUR BLOOD NOSE, FUCKSTAIN!!!  
TG: fantastic i look forward to it  
TG: maybe itll keep me awake for another two days  
CG: OR KNOCK YOU THE FUCK OUT.  
CG: HOPEFULLY KNOCK YOU THE FUCK OUT.  
CG: I’D BE DOING EVERYONE A MASSIVE FAVOUR; THEY WOULDN’T HAVE TO HEAR YOUR SNARKY BULLSHIT FOR A WHILE.  
TG: aw dude people love my snarky bullshit  
TG: im like a fucking celebrity around here bro  
TG: i need to hire a personal assistant to start herding all the poor chumps who want a piece of me  
TG: im practically royalty ok  
TG: oh wait  
CG: UGH, SHUT THE FUCK UP.  
TG: hahahaha  
TG: oh man  
TG: anyway i gotta go  
TG: like i said im a dude with a lot of shit on his plate  
TG: unfortunately shit isnt particularly appetising  
TG: but we all have to do our duties in life karkat  
TG: youll realise that one day  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT??  
TG: catch ya on the flipside homeslice  
CG: ARE YOU EVEN SPEAKING HUMAN ENGLISH RIGHT NOW???  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] \--  
  
CG: OH, FUCK YOU, STRIDER. GO EAT A BAG OF HUMAN DICKS.

GT: Fight convolution with more convolution!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit where do I even start with this chapter? Firstly, this is absolutely not the time to be posting this because I have two exams within in the next 38 hours, but posting chapters right when I should be doing last-minute studying is traditional for this fic.
> 
> So, like, return of the pesterlogs, anyone? Return of the Rosemary, anyone? Return of John, anyone? Return of the Dave/Karkat interactions, anyone? Okay, yeah, that last one is the most exciting by far. It trumps the massive plot thing in section 2. You can ignore that, it clearly isn't important at all. I started writing this because I wanted to write something with StriLondes and DaveKat, but then plot happened and they literally haven't interacted since chapter 6. That's nineteen fucking chapters. OH MY GOD I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY TO HAVE ACTUALLY FINALLY REACHED THIS POINT.
> 
> Quick note about the John/Roxy interaction, tho: I feel pretty neutral about them as a ship so don't expect too much out of that. Also I don't think I have the capacity to handle another romance thread I swear to fuck. There are currently _three_ , which is more than I ever thought I could handle. Remember in chapter one when I said I was shit at writing romance and that it probably wouldn't be too much of a thing?
> 
> oh how the cookie crumbles


	26. Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jade would have liked to have a weapon on her too—just in case—but for one, rifles were a_ little _bit ostentatious within city walls, and anyway, Jade was getting a lot better at multitasking with her powers. Besides, they were only up against one guy. How bad could it possibly get?_

**i.**

Despite being extremely excited to be such a big, important part of something so big and important, Jade couldn’t help but feel the teensiest bit nervous as she and Aranea crouched in some bushes near the eastern side of the palace courtyard.

Since deciding on a plan of action on Saturday, they—along with Terezi and Jane, of course—had been hard at work trying to figure out how they were going to pull off this complex but cunning plan. It wasn’t an incredibly difficult thing to know where Gamzee Makara would be at certain times of the day—Terezi had been keeping a nostril on him for a while now, and according to her, he left his basement room shortly before midday every day, walked through the eastern side of the central courtyard, and left the palace via the eastern gate. Then, he came back after midnight every night, following the reverse of the same route. They’d pretty quickly determined that the best place to ambush him would be on his walk through the east of the courtyard—that also provided them with plenty of space if things were to get… ugly.

After that, it was simply a matter of hashing out the details— _how_ they were actually going to catch him and hold him down for long enough for Aranea to do her thing.

They decided pretty much instantly that Jane should be nowhere near any of this when it was going on. It was _super_ risky business, what they were doing, and they didn’t want their Queen getting hurt—she was simply too precious! Of course, Jane had fought against this at first, worried about the rest of them, but she couldn’t argue against logic, and she _definitely_ couldn’t argue against the combined rhetoric of Aranea _and_ Terezi. Those two didn’t always agree on things, but when they did… wow.

So it was just the three of them—a Sylph of Light (with additional mental abilities), a Seer of Mind (with additional olfactory abilities), and a Witch of Space (with additional… optimism abilities!). The plan they came up with was quite simple: Terezi would be waiting for Gamzee in the courtyard as he emerged around midday, and confront him as he did so. This would give Jade the perfect opportunity to sneak up behind him, and, using a pre-tied set of cables, restrain him. Then Aranea would approach Gamzee and heal him of his sopor addiction, at which point they would call the guards and have him arrested under suspicion of the trafficking of illegal substances—and also under suspicion of conspiring to assassinate the previous Queen, but they weren’t letting other people know about that part until they had some cold, hard evidence.

Speaking of cold, hard evidence: just this morning, as they were finalising their preparations for the implementation of this totally infallible plan, Terezi showed Jade and Aranea something Kanaya had sent her last night—an extract from a scroll in Derse's archives that mentioned ‘The Paradox.’

It was kind of weird to think about how this Queen Theokleia the scroll mentioned was Jade’s great-(times twenty-something)-grandmother—and Jane and John’s, too. The “Cosmick Powers” the scroll mentioned confirmed to Jade that aspect abilities were definitely a family trait—she couldn’t possibly be the only of her siblings to have them!

“Do you think perhaps ‘The Paradox’ refers to this prison the text mentions?” Aranea asked once she had finished reading the extract. They were in Jade’s quarters, again, partly because they were the largest (being a princess—even an illegitimate one—had to have _some_ perks).

“Could do,” Terezi agreed with a frown, leaning against one of the posts of Jade’s four-poster bed. “I think there’s probably a lot of really meaningful bullshit in this extract that could be interpreted in a number of ways.”

“But what’s all the stuff about the _mirroring_ and the things having happened and not happened?” Jade wondered.

“That’s the nature of a paradox,” Aranea explained. “So if there’s some sort of prison hidden deep underneath Prospit, Queen Theokleia sealed it with a power so strong that she essentially sealed it—and the demon—out of existence. But of course, these events _did_ happen, and at one point the prison and the demon _did_ exist. Something which has tangibly existed cannot un-exist, but it could theoretically be made to exist on a different plane of existence, therefore both nullifying and preserving its existence at the same time. Of course, that relies on the possibility of parallel dimensions.”

“Wow,” said Jade. “Sounds… complicated! I think I get what you mean, though. Maybe Queen Theokleia’s aspect was Space! Maybe the ‘spell’ she used was really just her nullifying the space in which the prison occupied. Kinda like turning it inside-out. So she didn’t really _destroy_ any matter, she just turned it into negative mass. I _think_ that would be possible under the right circumstances. Negative mass is more or less paradoxical to regular matter, so that would make sense in context.” Jade shook her head in wonder. “I can’t even imagine how much power would be needed to do that, though.”

“She did die a week later,” Aranea pointed out.

Jade frowned. “True.”

Aranea paced up in down in front of the windows that faced out over Prospit City, which glowed golden in the morning sunlight. “In any case, if we’re right about The Paradox being this prison—which is, in this scenario, underneath the city—and if we’re right about the Makaras looking for it, this would mean that—”

“Let’s _not_ get ahead of ourselves here,” Terezi interrupted, though Jade thought she looked troubled. “Like I already said, there’s a lot of really meaningful bullshit in this extract and we don’t know nearly enough to be drawing any conclusions yet. Let’s focus on the task at hand and maybe that'll afford us some more delicious clues.” She forced a grin, revealing her razor teeth.

Terezi was right, of course. They had a juggalo to catch.

When the time was right, they took their positions—Jade and Aranea just out of sight in some shrubs, and Terezi leaning nonchalantly against the easternmost courtyard wall, dragon-headed cane held loosely in one hand. Just in case things went pear-shaped. Jade would have liked to have a weapon on her too—just in case—but for one, rifles were a _little_ bit ostentatious within city walls, and anyway, Jade was getting a lot better at multitasking with her powers. Besides, they were only up against one guy. How bad could it possibly get?

With a whole lot of leaves and stuff in the way, it was unsurprisingly quite difficult to see what was going on—Jade mainly made sure she kept Terezi in her line of sight, so she would be able to see exactly when to strike. Earlier, she’d shrunk down a set of cables to a size small enough to fit on her pinky finger like a ring. She couldn’t help but nervously rub her thumb up and down the cables as she watched and waited. As soon as she saw Terezi move, she slowly and carefully started to emerge from her hiding spot, Aranea close behind her.

“Makara,” said Terezi. She had moved to stand right in his way.

“Hey there, sister,” said Gamzee in his low drawl. “What are you doin’ all blockin’ my way on a beautiful morning like this?”

Jade, approaching from behind Gamzee, could see the smirk crawl across Terezi’s face.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose I felt like I should apologise.”

“Aw, there’s no need for that,” Gamzee said. “I understand why you’d be all suspicious of a motherfucker like me.”

Terezi’s grin widened, though it was a little strained. “That’s not what I meant.”

Jade considered this the perfect cue, and—now being little over fifteen feet away—thrust her hand in Gamzee’s direction, the cables flying off her pinky as they grew in size. First Jade grew them way larger than they needed to be, hovering them over Gamzee’s head, and then, as they dropped over him, shrank them down to their regular size (or maybe even a little smaller), neatly ensnaring the juggalo and cutting off his response with a surprised yelp. His hands bound to his sides and his legs bound together, he teetered and hopped before crashing sideways onto the ground.

“Nicely done,” Terezi complimented.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” cried Gamzee, head twisting around to look from Terezi to Jade to Aranea and back again. “Why you motherfuckers gotta be gangin’ up on a guy like this for?”

Aranea strode towards him. “This is for your own good, Makara,” she said as she knelt beside him.

“Aw, come on,” he drawled. “No one who wanted to do a good thing ever went and tied someone up like this. Shit ain’t motherfuckin’ cool.”

“Trust me, Gamzee,” said Terezi, watching (smell-watching?) with a frown as Aranea took deep breaths in preparation for what she was about to do. “It’s better this way. I hope.”

Jade wasn’t entirely sure what _that_ meant, but for the moment she was too distracted watching Aranea place one hand on Gamzee’s head and the other on his chest. She closed her eyes and concentrated. A soft yellow-orange light began to emanate from her fingertips.

Gamzee’s expression went slack. Then it jerked into a grimace and his eyes rolled in his head as his body jerked and spasmed violently. Aranea kept her hands on him, as if they were glued in place, her brow furrowed slightly as she concentrated.

It was barely a minute before it was over. Gamzee’s body fell slack and his eyes slid shut. Aranea jerked her hands away, staggering to her feet and breathing heavily.

“I—I think I did it,” she said, sounding surprised.

Terezi took a cautious step forwards. “Is he unconscious?” she asked. “We should get the guards to take him before he—”

Gamzee’s eyes snapped open and, despite the restraints, he pulled himself upright using nothing but his legs. He stood there, swaying, his hair hanging over his face. Jade, Aranea, and Terezi simply watched, cautious and speechless. Jade’s mind was still bound to the cables so that she could reinforce their hold if need be, and she’d felt them twinge slightly as Gamzee had stood—just the slightest bit of discomfort in her head as the restraints were pushed against.

“You shouldn’t have motherfuckin’ done that,” Gamzee said quietly. Then, his head came up and he roared, “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE MOTHERFUCKIN’ DONE THAT!”

He strained against the cables—this time, more than a _little_ twinge. Jade winced and held her hand out, restricting the cables just slightly. It made the pressure in her head worse, but if it kept him restrained…

“Gamzee,” Terezi said, starting forwards. “Are you… sober?”

“Yeah,” he said, once again so quiet that Jade could barely hear him. “I motherfuckin’ said you wouldn’t like me sober.”

“Gamzee—”

“I SAID YOU WOULDN’T _MOTHERFUCKIN’ LIKE ME_ SOBER!”

As he shouted, he pushed against the restraints again—and Jade pushed back, except either she or he pushed too hard and the cables snapped with a sound like a rifle shot. Or maybe, for Jade, this was just because the cables snapping meant her mental connection to them was snapped, too—and one of the first things she was ever taught was to _never_ , under _any circumstances_ , forcefully break the connection between her mind and the object or objects she was manipulating.

Colours exploded in front of her eyes and she collapsed to her knees, blood rushing furiously in her ears. Beyond that, she vaguely thought she could hear the sound of combat, but she wasn’t entirely sure why. Wasn’t—wasn’t everything just going really well? Wasn’t that what all these colours and lights were about? Ah, yes, of course! A celebration of their victory! She tried to cheer, but all that came out was a hoarse cough. She could feel the grass under her knees; under her hands where she clung to it for dear life. Surely these were the only parts of the earth that still existed, and if she went anywhere beyond them, she would topple into the centre of the planet and burn in the core. She didn’t want to burn in the planet’s core—if only she could see properly, but it was impossible with all these flashing lights in her eyes.

Beyond the lights, she thought she might have caught a flash of grey and heard a grunt and a cry. That didn’t sound good. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it didn’t sound good.

Jade felt a hand on her head and her mind refocussed, wrenching away from its momentary insanity. Aranea was knelt in front of her, and it was her hand on Jade’s head. Jade immediately understood what had happened—Aranea had healed the mental wound made by the broken link to the cables.

“You need to restrain him again!” Aranea told her desperately. “I healed him too well and he doesn’t want to be taken and he’s too strong—I can’t even get into his head!”

Jade peered around Aranea. Currently, Gamzee was locked in combat with Terezi, and, despite being unarmed, had got in a few good hits. Teal blood flowed freely from Terezi’s nose and split lip, and she held her cane in her left hand, keeping her right tucked close to her body. As Jade watched, she lurched out of the way of another punch from Gamzee, swiping towards his legs with her cane. He skipped out of the way and kicked her in the shoulder on her injured side, sending her flying. She rolled inelegantly and came unsteadily to her feet.

“He’ll just break free again,” Jade told Aranea, who shook her head fiercely.

“Not with me helping. I’ll lend you the mental strength.”

Jade wasn’t entirely sure how Aranea’s powers worked—especially since she had not only her aspect powers, but also her special blood-colour telepathic powers. Either way, Jade nodded and stood. Aranea placed her hand on Jade’s shoulder and she felt a new surge of power, like a breath of fresh air in her mind.

She held her hand out towards the cables and they responded as efficiently as her own fingers, jumping up into the air and beginning to mend themselves—something Jade had never managed to do before, but with Aranea augmenting her abilities, she felt like she could do just about anything. The new link between her and the cables was much stronger than the previous one. Once they were mended, she grew them and hovered them over where Terezi was quickly losing ground.

“Terezi!” Jade called.

Terezi turned her face skyward, and, noticing the cables, somersaulted backwards out of the way. Before Gamzee could follow, Jade was upon him with the restraints faster than the blade of a guillotine.

Again, Gamzee fought against the restraints, his wide, crazed eyes bulging in their sockets as he yelled and shouted and swore. Jade could feel the pressure, of course, but every twinge was quickly filled with Aranea’s healing energies.

“What now?” Jade asked through grit teeth. “He won’t stop fighting me!”

“He’ll have to,” said Aranea, already sounding exhausted. “Either he lets up, or we will.”

“I’ll knock him out,” Terezi panted, making her way forwards.

Before she could take more than two steps, however, Gamzee inhaled noisily and let out the most horrible sound Jade had ever heard—faintly, it resembled an air horn, but deeper, louder, longer, and so horrific that she wanted to curl up in fear.

She felt Aranea’s hand leave her shoulder, and she echoed the sentiment by bringing her own hands up to her ears—it was the kind of impulse reaction no one could ignore. She pressed her hands tightly to each side of her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Her lungs worked overtime as fear flooded them like hot acid, spreading through her veins and making her fingers and toes numb. She could feel every inch of Gamzee’s resistance against the restraints, now, but as the sound went on they lessened, until finally they stopped—and so did the noise, and the fear.

Jade was reluctant to take her hands away from her ears at first. Slowly, she opened her eyes. In front of her, Terezi had assumed a similar position—hands over ears, curled into herself. As Jade watched, she dropped her hands, taking a few cautious steps towards Gamzee, who had once again fallen over onto the ground—presumably (hopefully) unconscious. Jade lowered her own hands. Her ears were ringing, and she felt something wet trickling down her jaw. She looked at her hands. Blood.

“What _was_ that?” she asked, and was relieved to find she could still hear, despite everything sounding a bit muffled.

Aranea slowly walked past Jade, watching Terezi kneel down next to Gamzee. “If I’m correct, Makara may have just utilised an ability unique to his blood colour. Historically, purple bloods such as he were of the ruling caste, and as such possessed the ability to strike the most horrible fear into the hearts of their enemies with a single word: honk.” She sighed and touched one hand to her own ear. Her trembling fingers came away cerulean. “We’re lucky to have survived that.”

“He’s unconscious,” Terezi called, standing up. “Call the guards.” She looked terrible—blood dribbled from just about every facial orifice and she still held her right arm awkwardly, in addition to her posture being uncharacteristically slumped and seeming to favour her left leg. “Tell them to call in a doctor, too.”

“Yeah,” Jade breathed. “I think we all need one.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Terezi said instantly. “I mean, yeah, I guess we do need one, but…” she sighed. “We need to keep him sedated.”

No one spoke for a moment.

“Are you sure?” Aranea asked.

Terezi nodded. “He did warn me, after all.”

 

**ii.**

Under the gleaming stone of the Prospitian streets, in a dark, damp tunnel, a muted troll decided it would be best to heed the warning of his closest comrade—or, if you please, to take the cue from his superior. Either way, he was done with this city, and it was high time he hightailed it out of here.

Ordinarily, negotiating a ride out of the city would be difficult without talking, but this troll had a good many contacts among the carapacians, who, similarly, had no verbal means of communication. Of course, he may or may not have known that most of his carapacian contacts were simply terrified of him and his ilk, and, having no wishes to displease them, did just about anything they were told. It helped that they were freshly shaken up by the horrendous sound that had echoed throughout the city earlier that same day.

The troll watched the golden city become smaller and smaller from the bed of a rumbly pickup truck. His journey to Derse would be long and difficult—though maybe not as difficult as he anticipated. But it was all for a greater purpose.

He supposed he ought to send a message to his contact in Derse.

 

**iii.**

“Oh, yeah, uh… I was told to give you this.” Without making eye contact, the young troll held a manila envelope out towards Dirk.

Dirk took it. “Thanks. What is it?”

The troll shrugged. “Paperwork, I guess.”

Kankri broke in, “I should like to know the contents.”

“Sure,” Dirk sighed. “If they pertain to you. More than likely, they’re just military reports—maybe someone finally thought it would be a good idea to let their Prince Regent know what the fuck is going on up at Skaia, because, you know, he’s the fucking Prince Regent. And if they are, they’re really not your business.” He couldn’t help but still feel chilly towards Kankri. Firstly he’d been a selfish asshole, and then… well, then he’d been a selfish asshole again. He seemed to have the decency to feel some modicum of embarrassment about the situation, now that he had what he wanted: his brother, in Derse, right where he could keep an eye on the poor kid.

Kankri looked suitably chastened and turned, instead, to his brother. “Karkat, will you be okay staying here by yourself while the negotiation meetings are going on? Of course, I’d prefer it if you could sit in—perhaps you’d even learn a thing or two about diplomacy—but that would be… well, it’s not possible.” Essentially, it was already breaking the initial terms of the delegation party’s agreement by even having Karkat here. Letting him be a part of negotiations would like stabbing themselves in the collective crotch: it would considerably cripple their chances of producing a favourable outcome.

Karkat shrugged Kankri’s hand off his shoulder. “I’m not a fucking wiggler,” he scolded. “I’ll be fine.”

“Utilities are down the hall and to your left,” Dirk advised. “Unfortunately all of our all-in-one guest quarters are occupied.”

Karkat just shrugged, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

“I did offer for you to simply stay with me in my quarters,” Kankri pointed out.

“I know,” Karkat said through grit teeth, glaring at his brother. “And I already said _no fucking way_.”

Dirk already liked this kid.

Whatever Kankri was going to say next was interrupted when the door burst open, admitting a widely-grinning John Egbert. “Karkat!” he exclaimed.

Karkat groaned as John assaulted him with friendliness.

While that was going on, Kankri turned to Dirk, and— _very_ sheepishly—asked, “So… how is your brother doing?”

Dirk scowled. “I don’t know,” he said shortly. “He won’t talk. Not to me, not to anyone—not so far as I know.”

At that, John stopped strangle-hugging Karkat and turned to Dirk. “Do you think he’ll show up to the meeting today?”

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Kankri looked troubled. “I hope this isn’t all because—”

“No. It has nothing to do with you.”

Karkat, meanwhile, watched on in befuddlement. “Wait, who the fuck are we talking about here?”

“Dave,” John answered. “You met him, right? At Skaia?”

“Yeah,” Karkat replied cautiously.

“Well, uh…” Again, John looked towards Dirk.

“It’s not important,” Dirk said. “The meeting starts soon.”

“Wait, but, you said he won’t talk? I thought the guy never fucking shut up?” said Karkat.

John scoffed. “Yeah, ordinarily he doesn’t. But, um… well, something happened a few days ago and he hasn’t really talked to anyone since.”

The room was silent for a moment. Poor Karkat looked he’d been given a spoon to eat a steak with. “Uh. I just talked to him before. Well, not _talk_ talked, but he insisted on showing me some shitty things he was drawing and just generally being an insufferable prick.”

It seemed Dave’s silent treatment was conditional—which honestly just made Dirk more pissed off, despite knowing that he probably _shouldn’t_ be because Dave had been through one hell of a fucking ordeal.

“Well, then,” he said quietly. “That’s… interesting. How about this: I’ll literally fucking pay you if you can get him to come out of his room.”

Karkat sighed. “If that means putting up with more of his bullshit, then fuck no.”

Dirk shrugged. He looked to Kankri, and then to John. “I need to go prepare for the meeting. Catch up or whatever, but don’t be late.”

“Um, actually,” said John. “Could I talk to you for a second?”

Dirk indicated over his shoulder, and John followed him out of the room. They were halfway down the hall before the kid actually said anything.

“It’s about… your sister.”

“Which one?”

“Um, the older one. Roxy.”

Oh, great. “Okay.”

“I found her in the gardens this morning… um, really, _really_ drunk.”

That sounded like Roxy. “And?”

John wrung his hands. “I just thought you should know. She… said some things that were kind of concerning.”

Dirk sighed. “Yeah. She does that when she’s drunk.”

“Does she get drunk a lot?”

“Yep.”

“Well… okay.”

Dirk stopped walking. “Look. The fact of the matter is, she’s an alcoholic. There’s no fucking question about it: that’s what she is, and I’m pretty sure she knows it, and she knows I know it.” He paused. “No one else needs to know, though.”

John looked stunned. “Well, can’t you help her? Or something?”

Dirk almost laughed. He couldn’t even help _himself_ —he couldn’t help Dave, either. He couldn’t help anyone. The knowledge threatened to swallow him right then and there, and he was half tempted to let it.

“I’ve tried,” he said calmly. “Unfortunately, it’s nigh on fuckin’ impossible to help someone who doesn’t want to help herself.” He started walking again, more briskly this time, practically making John run to keep up. “Same goes with Dave—I wasn’t fucking kidding when I offered Karkat a _monetary reward_ if he can get Dave to stop wallowing in his own misery.”

John had nothing to say to that.

“Is that it?” Dirk snapped, more harshly than he intended.

“Um, yes,” said John, sounding crestfallen. “I’ll… see you at the meeting.”

He fell behind Dirk, who just kept walking as fast as he could without breaking into a run. As if trying to escape every bad fucking situation that was going on in this damn palace without letting on how desperate he really was.

Roxy. Dave. The council. Whatever the fuck Rose was planning and barely consulting him about. It was nice to finally check the whole Kankri thing off the list of “bullshit to deal with.” Dirk doubted he would like whatever was inside the manila packet clutched in his hand. Also, bubbling constantly just under the surface, was whatever the situation with Jake was—and honestly, he had no idea what to even call that, because it felt too personal for Dirk to include on his list of pressing issues.

Dirk very sincerely wished he were the kind of person capable of focussing on just one thing at a time. Unfortunately, he never had been, and didn’t see himself becoming so at any point in the future.

 

Every face around the table showed some degree of tired, agitated, or bored, and Dirk honestly couldn’t blame them. Of course Dave hadn’t shown, and Roxy looked like she’d just woken up—hungover, of course. Even Rose looked stressed out and exhausted. Ha, _even_ Rose. Of _course_ Rose was stressed the fuck out, if not because of how actively she was trying to steer the negotiations, then because of the fact that her twin brother was dangerously close to going off the deep end—into what, who knew? Maybe he already had. Maybe this wasn’t the first time—how was Dirk to know, having not been a part of their lives for the past twelve years?

Across the table, Jake looked anxious, twiddling his thumbs on the table top. Kankri looked less standoffish than usual, but the result was that he seemed deflated. John looked bored and nervous all in one, sitting slumped in his chair, his eyes never resting for long on one person. Kanaya looked best off out of all of them—maybe even out of everyone at the table—but that may have only been comparatively, because she always managed to stay poised. Dirk could easily understand why Rose respected her so much.

Equius Zahhak stood. He had a towel slung around his shoulders—as usual—but it was already soaked from the amount of sweat pouring off the troll’s face.

“Over the weekend,” he began, in his low, slow voice, “Myself and several of my fellow councillors met in the council hall in order to discuss matters regarding these negotiations without the pressure of royal presences.” He nodded stiffly towards Dirk, who already knew about this, of course—the council wasn’t typically supposed to meet without their presiding monarch in attendance (or, failing that, the highest-status royal available) so Equius had come to him to ask permission after Saturday’s meeting. Dirk had been reluctant to give the go-ahead, at first, but Rose had caught his eye and nodded and who the fuck was he to deny the judgement of a Seer of Light?

“What we decided,” Equius continued, “was that we can all agree upon the fact that none of us are quite comfortable with the idea of the Prince Regent becoming the King and effectively usurping His Majesty, our unfortunately absent but still very magnificent and _strong_ ruler.”

Dirk was simultaneously disappointed and relieved, which was a strange feeling that primarily seemed to cultivate his pre-existing frustration. The circumstances that Rose and Kanaya had described on Thursday hadn’t sounded ideal in the slightest, but after thinking on it, Dirk had to concede that it was the best course of action—otherwise they’d just keep going in circles and by the time they _finally_ agreed on something— _if_ they ever agreed on something—it would, in all likelihood, be too late.

Equius wasn’t finished. “However, we of the council all agree that we can most certainly recognise the direness of current events, and realise that the current situation here in Derse, concerning these negotiations, is not one that will lead us to an easy conclusion concerning aforementioned current events.”

Wonders never cease.

“Therefore, we have come up with an alternative solution which the table—excluding our Prospitian guests—may vote upon.”

Dirk saw Kankri open his mouth to say something, but luckily Kanaya put a swift stop to that with an elbow to the ribcage. “We agree to secede from the vote,” she said graciously.

Equius nodded in Kanaya’s direction.

“What’s this proposition?” Dirk asked.

“It is more of a… compromise, than a proposition. Instead of becoming the King and usurping your father, you will—if the table favours it—become, instead, the Prince Monarch,” said Equius.

Oh. It almost seemed too obvious.

“Prince Monarch?” Jake piped up. “What does that entail?”

“Exactly what it says on the tin,” replied Rose. “Still a Prince rather than a King, but also the primary ruling figure of Derse. The Prince Monarch has less power than a King, but considerably more than a Prince Regent—the power to, for instance, sign off on a truce without the unanimous agreement of terms by a secondary governmental institution, such as this very council. Furthermore, if and when the King returns, there is no clash of titles and Dirk will go simply go back to being no more than the Crown Prince.”

“How do you always _know_ all this shit?” Roxy questioned, propping up her head in her hands, cradling her own temples.

“The Seer of Light was very helpful in providing the literature that made this proposition possible,” Equius explained.

Rose nodded. “There are actually several volumes in the temple archives detailing the many possible administrative titles in Derse. Of course, most of them have become obsolete, but others—such as this one, Prince Monarch—evidently may still prove useful.”

“Right,” Dirk broke in. “So we put it to a vote, excluding the Prospitians.”

“Do you need someone to conduct the vote?” Kanaya offered.

Dirk nodded. “That’s a good idea. Thank you.”

Equius, having done his piece, resumed his seat, as Kanaya smiled graciously and stood.

“All those in favour of raising Prince Regent Dirk Strider to the status of Prince Monarch, please raise your hands.”

Dirk held up his hand—which seemed a little silly, considering the vote was _about_ him—and so did Rose and Roxy, as well as Equius, Cronus (surprisingly), and the two token carapacian councillors (unsurprisingly), plus a smattering of other councillors.

Kanaya counted the votes. “Seventeen,” she said. “All opposed, please raise your hands.”

The favourable hands lowered as the opposed hands went up. Dirk could immediately see the problem.

Kanaya counted the votes, and frowned. “Seventeen,” she said. “Oh, my. It would seem we have a stalemate.”

Dirk was so fucking sick of stalemates.

“Wait, hold on,” John piped up. “Aren’t we missing someone?”

Everyone looked at him. John looked back. “Dave!” he said, as if it were obvious—which it kind of was.

“The young prince has not seen fit to appear,” said one of the councillors who had voted in the opposition. “Therefore he does not have the privilege of voting.”

“Quite to the contrary,” Kankri began, to Dirk’s horror. “While I am able and willing to concede the abstinence of we Prospitians in this vote, I know a little something about your Dersian voting system, and that is that no result can be finalised without the vote of any and every eligible member of the royal family—eligible meaning over the age of seven and a half sweeps, or fifteen human years.”

Okay, that wasn’t as bad as Dirk thought it would be—in fact, it was almost fucking _useful_ , except for the persisting issue of Dave not talking to anyone at the moment.

Rose sighed heavily beside Dirk. “I suppose I could try messaging him again, though I doubt that would be of any use. Or we could send someone to his quarters to deliver an urgent message—”

 _Ticktickticktick._ “No need,” said a familiar voice behind them.

Dirk twisted around in his seat—as did Rose and Roxy on either side of him. Dave was standing behind them, looking… well, like _Dave_ , but… slightly different. For one, there was the strange fact that he seemed out of breath, a sword hanging loosely in his grip. His hair looked longer and messier, clinging to his face with sweat. A half-healed cut adorned his left cheekbone, just visible under the rim of his shades, the right lens of which had a single jagged fracture from the centre to the top outside corner.

“Dave?” Rose asked, getting up out of her seat.

“’Sup,” said ‘Dave’. “When you tell past me about this, be sure to remind him how much of a tool he’s being.” He paused. “By past me, I mean present me. I guess.”

The room was silent.

“Well… I vote in favour,” said ‘Dave’.

“Then that is the final vote,” said Kanaya, sounding a little stunned and confused, but recovering quickly. “Prince Regent Dirk Strider will become Prince Monarch Dirk Strider.”

The room broke out into noise—cheering and jeering, huzzah-ing and booing. That was what happened when you just barely had a majority, and when the one to tip the scales was—

“That’s _that_ loop closed, then,” said ‘Dave’, sounding relieved. “Fucking finally.” He brushed his hair out of his face, and then, with a flash of red and a whirl of ticking—just barely audible over the room’s tumult—he disappeared.

Dirk looked at Rose, who looked thoroughly pissed off. “He better not have ended up abusing his abilities,” she said, still staring at the spot where ‘Dave’ had disappeared. “I just _wish_ he would talk to me in this time frame.”

Then Dirk turned to Roxy, who was smiling melancholically at him. “Dude,” she said. “You’re the fucking _Prince Monarch_ now. That’s fancy as _shit_!”

She was right about that: it was one fancy-ass fuckin’ title. Unfortunately, Dirk felt… pretty indifferent about it. Maybe it just hadn’t sunk in yet.

He looked across the table, where Kankri was talking animatedly to Kanaya and John, who looked happier than they normally would having to listen to the Seer of Blood’s monologuing. Dirk made eye contact with Jake, who grinned and mouthed, “ _We did it!_ ”

Yeah. Dirk supposed they had.

He allowed himself a tiny smirk in reply.

JADE: sounds… complicated!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I know that ordinarily going a week between updates is totally fine, but I'd really wanted to update sooner. :( I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, unfortunately. On multiple different levels, including motivational. Oh, god, I'm too tired to really say anything meaningful. I've been working on this fic for over four hours straight just so I could finally get this god damn chapter up. I don't even _dislike_ the chapter, it was just really difficult, logistically speaking. 
> 
> In any case, between last chapter and this one I posted a [DaveKat oneshot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8527099) which I feel I definitely needed to write. It was kind of an expiation and a respite, in content and style. So, yeah, check that out if that's your thing.


	27. In the Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Honestly, he was kind of glad for the excuse to get up and stretch his legs—he was starting to run out of things he could do without having to concentrate too hard. Concentrating was literally impossible at this point._

\--  carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG] \--  
  
CG: SO I HAVEN’T BEEN IN THIS PLACE VERY LONG, THIS PLACE WHICH IS, I MIGHT ADD, UNNECESSARILY COMPLEX AND DAMN NEAR FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE TO NAVIGATE, BUT THE LONGER I’M HERE THE MORE I BEGIN TO DOUBT WHETHER OR NOT YOU ACTUALLY LIVE HERE.  
CG: I MEAN, ASIDE FROM THE FACT THAT OTHER PEOPLE KEEP MENTIONING YOU AND MENTIONING HOW YOU ABSOLUTELY DEFINITELY LIVE HERE.  
CG: IT’S JUST PRETTY DIFFICULT TO BELIEVE SOMETHING LIKE THAT WHEN YOU NEVER SEE IT WITH YOUR OWN EYES.  
TG: what  
CG: DON’T “WHAT” ME, STRIDER.  
CG: I’VE BEEN HERE FOR ALL OF TEN HOURS OR SOMETHING AND I’VE SEEN EVERY ROYAL OCCUPANT CURRENTLY OCCUPYING THIS PALACE AT LEAST ONCE, EXCEPT FOR YOU.  
CG: BECAUSE APPARENTLY DINNER IS A THING!! WHERE EVERYONE GETS TOGETHER TO STUFF THEIR FACES WITH PALACE NOSH AND COMPLAIN ABOUT DUMBASS FUCKING COUNCILLORS OR CELEBRATE ONE-UPPING AFOREMENTIONED DUMBASS COUNCILLORS.  
CG: OF COURSE, I’D BE MORE CONFUSED I HADN’T FOUND OUT LESS THAN TEN MINUTES AFTER I GOT HERE THAT THE MYSTERIOUSLY ABSENT ROYAL (THAT’S YOU, ASSHOLE!) IS ABSENT BECAUSE HE’S BEEN GIVING HIS ENTIRE FAMILY AND ALL OF HIS FRIENDS THE SILENT TREATMENT DUE TO SOME INDESCRIBABLE BULLSHIT THAT WENT DOWN A FEW DAYS AGO.  
CG: AND BY INDESCRIBABLE I MEAN THAT NO ONE WILL ACTUALLY DESCRIBE TO ME WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED.   
CG: NOT THAT I CARE, IT WOULD JUST BE NICE TO HAVE SOME LEGITIMATE FUCKING CONTEXT AS TO WHAT TURNED PRINCE DOUCHEFACE EXTRAORDINAIRE INTO PRINCE OVERDRAMATIC EMO KID.  
CG: *THEN* I REMEMBERED HOW YOU NONCHALANTLY MENTIONED THAT YOU HAVEN’T SLEPT IN A COUPLE OF DAYS AND SUDDENLY EVERYTHING STARTS TO FALL INTO PLACE.  
CG: EXCEPT IT DOESN’T BECAUSE I STILL DON’T GET WHY YOU’RE DOING WHAT YOU’RE DOING.  
CG: YOU KNOW, WHEN I MENTIONED I’D TALKED TO YOU YOUR BROTHER LITERALLY OFFERED ME CASH IF I COULD LURE YOU OUT OF YOUR EMO SULK-CAVE.  
TG: whoa  
TG: chill  
CG: NO, FUCK YOU. I DON’T KNOW WHY I OF ALL PEOPLE SEEM TO BE YOUR “CHOSEN ONE” OR WHATEVER THE FUCK AS FAR AS RECIPROCAL COMMUNICATION GOES, BUT SINCE I AM I FIGURE I PROBABLY OWE IT TO YOUR BROTHER TO AT LEAST TRY DO THIS ONE FAVOUR FOR HIM.  
CG: IN RETURN FOR GETTING ME OUT OF THAT SHITHOLE AT SKAIA. AND PUTTING ME UP AT THE PALACE AND WHATEVER.  
TG: ok great  
TG: i just mean like  
TG: chill out on the walls of text  
TG: that plus your propensity to never turn caps lock off makes it kinda hard to read  
CG: WHAT?  
TG: i mean like  
TG: reading is hard  
TG: focussing   
TG: whatever  
CG: YOU STILL HAVEN’T SLEPT, HAVE YOU?  
TG: nah  
CG: YOU’RE THE BIGGEST FUCKING IDIOT I’VE EVER HAD THE DISPLEASURE TO MEET, YOU KNOW THAT?  
TG: nah  
CG: IF THE WORLD REWARDED LITERAL PILES OF SHIT TO PEOPLE PROPORTIONATE TO HOW MUCH OF A PILE OF SHIT THEY ARE, YOU WOULD BE BURIED UNDER A PILE OF SHIT BIGGER THAN THE ICEBERG THAT SUNK THE FUCKING TITANIC.  
TG: nah theres worse than me  
TG: probably  
TG: maybe  
TG: yeah there is  
TG: i think  
TG: so whats up dude  
CG: DID YOU EVEN READ ANY OF MY MESSAGES???  
TG: no i told you its too hard to focus on them  
TG: holo screens are convenient but also  
TG: idk the word  
TG: annoying  
TG: i guess thats the closest descriptor  
TG: so whats up dude  
CG: I... I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU.  
TG: just  
TG: cut me a little slack ok  
TG: there are some serious delays in the neural railways at the moment  
CG: GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP, THEN.  
CG: IN FACT I SHOULDN’T EVEN BE TALKING TO YOU, IT’S LIKE, WHAT, NEARLY TEN PM?   
TG: and yet  
TG: here you are  
CG: ALRIGHT FUCK YOU.  
CG: FINE, OKAY. I’LL JUST BE THE BIGGER MAN AND COME OUT AND ADMIT IT:  
CG: I’M LOST.  
TG: for real  
CG: YES!!  
CG: IF YOU’D HAD THE PRESENCE OF MIND TO READ ANY OF THE MESSAGES I SENT YOU EARLIER YOU WOULD HAVE NOTICED HOW I DESCRIBED YOUR PALACE AS “UNNECESSARILY FUCKING COMPLEX AND DAMN NEAR FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE TO NAVIGATE.”  
TG: ok first off thats not my fault  
TG: second off  
TG: i got lost my first day here too  
TG: the floor plan is pretty fuckin labyrinthine  
CG: GREAT SO YOU KNOW HOW TO GET UN-LOST.  
TG: nope  
CG: WHAT?  
TG: youve gone down the rabbit hole now bro  
TG: aint no comin back  
CG: JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND TELL ME THE SECRET TO NAVIGATING THIS PLACE.  
TG: the secret is...........  
TG: there is no secret you just have to get used to it  
TG: idk i got lucky the first time i got lost   
TG: dirk found me  
TG: and then i vowed never to go anywhere without my magic circlet  
TG: aka dumb tiara that is less dumb when you take into consideration the fact that it not only has an in-built pesterchum module but also an in-built map module  
TG: courtesy of roxy  
CG: HOW IS THAT SUPPOSED TO HELP ME AT ALL??  
TG: idk  
CG: FUUUCK.  
TG: alright ok since youre so desperate  
TG: what kind of device are you using  
CG: WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING?  
TG: just answer the question nubs  
CG: CALL ME THAT AGAIN AND I’LL SAW OFF YOUR HUMAN TESTICLES.  
TG: youd like that wouldnt you  
TG: ok depending on what kind of device you have you can just turn on radlink  
TG: then if we’re in the same channel i can find your device   
TG: plug your location into my nifty module  
TG: and come riding to your rescue like the white knight you always dreamed about  
CG: OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP. OKAY, I’LL SEE IF I CAN FIND THIS “RADLINK” THING.  
TG: k  
CG: OK, IT’S ON. NOW WHAT?  
TG: what frequency are you on  
CG: 28.6 KHZ.  
TG: jesus  
CG: WHAT?  
TG: thats some heavy duty shit right there  
CG: THIS THING IS BRAND NEW, I’M STILL LEARNING HOW TO USE IT.  
TG: no its fine its just like  
TG: mine doesnt go below 50 mhz  
CG: WELL THEN WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO NOW??  
TG: chill its easy  
TG: change your frequency to 409.2 mhz  
TG: nice normal cell range  
TG: who knows what signals you could be picking up at that frequency jesus are you messaging me from a submarine or something  
TG: that might be why youre lost  
TG: plz confirm that you are not in fact on a submarine in the middle of the fucking ocean  
CG: I AM NOT ON A FUCKING SUBMARINE, SHUT THE FUCK UP.  
CG: WHAT’S THE PASSWORD?  
CG: ALSO WHO THE FUCK PASSWORD PROTECTS A RADIO FREQUENCY?  
TG: badass motherfuckers thats who  
TG: its a security thing  
TG: im kind of a big deal remember  
CG: I DON’T CARE, JUST GIVE ME THE FUCKING PASSWORD.  
TG: ?Z3QnRt:Eqp58  
CG: GOD DAMN.  
TG: its auto-generated  
TG: changes every week  
TG: just like the wifi password  
CG: YOUR WIFI PASSWORD CHANGES EVERY WEEK??  
TG: yep  
TG: cant have any suckers from outside the palace leeching our fibre optic  
TG: cause you know   
TG: that shits expensive  
TG: hey anyway why are you wandering around the palace at night  
TG: it only just occurred to me how weird that is  
CG: NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS.  
CG: I COULDN’T SLEEP.  
TG: hypocrite  
CG: THERE’S A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN NOT BEING ABLE TO SLEEP AND CHOOSING NOT TO SLEEP, BULGEFUCK.  
CG: ANYWAY, I’M ON THE CHANNEL.  
TG: aight one sec

Dave rubbed his face with both hands before setting his RadLink module to scan for other devices on the same channel as him. Honestly, he was kind of glad for the excuse to get up and stretch his legs—he was starting to run out of things he could do without having to concentrate too hard. Concentrating was literally impossible at this point.

The search came back with four results: three of the devices on the channel were obviously Rose, Dirk, and Roxy, but the fourth was unfamiliar, and undoubtedly the one he was looking for. He copy-pasted the coordinates from RadLink into his map module. Karkat was a couple of floors down and on the opposite side of the palace. How he’d gotten there from his ground-floor guest quarters, Dave was interested to find out.

TG: okay how the fuck did you get there  
CG: HOW DID I GET WHERE?  
TG: where you currently are  
CG: IF I FUCKING WELL KNEW I WOULDN’T BE LOST, WOULD I??  
TG: ok cause youre like a couple floors below me  
TG: and im on the second highest floor  
CG: ...I’M PRETTY SURE I DIDN’T GO UP THAT MANY STAIRS.  
TG: well its right here dude  
TG: im staring at the little red dot on floor seventeen  
TG: the little red dot is you  
CG: WELL THE LITTLE RED DOT MUST BE FUCKING WRONG.  
TG: well unless youve moved we’re about to find out  
TG: en route rn buddy  
CG: DON’T CALL ME THAT.

Dave pulled himself up from the couch and stood still for a moment as he waited for the vertigo to fade and his vision to clear. Yeah, the vertigo was probably one of the most annoying parts of sleep deprivation. Oh, and the difficulty focussing on words. And the difficulty focussing on anything. And… yeah, okay, the whole thing pretty much sucked but he’d committed himself to this and he was too stubborn to give up just yet.

(Or too afraid.)

Karkat was entertaining, that was for sure. He was just too easy to stir up. He’d probably get sick of Dave’s bullshit eventually—just like everyone else probably already had. Even Aradia had already gotten sick of his bullshit, forgoing any further ‘lessons’ today in favour of going and setting herself up to become an apostle at the temple. He couldn’t really fault her for wanting a break from him.

Actually, this was the first time Dave had left his quarters for almost as long as he’d been awake—and it was a good thing it was after ten at night, because it meant there were less people around. It didn’t necessarily mean there were _no_ people, so he tried to keep on his guard as he navigated to the central staircase.

TG: hey heres a handy navigation tip free of charge  
TG: usually these things cost a god damn fortune so you better be fuckin grateful  
TG: theres a stairwell right in the centre of the palace that goes to every floor  
TG: there are plenty of other staircases but this is the only one that goes to all of em  
CG: WHY.  
TG: why what  
CG: WHY HAVE ONLY ONE STAIRCASE THAT GOES TO EVERY SINGLE FLOOR?  
TG: idfk  
TG: this place is like hundreds of years old it was probably fashionable back then  
CG: SURE. WHATEVER YOU SAY.

He reached floor seventeen without incident—which was lucky, considering how lethal those stairs were and how off-balance Dave was at the moment. This was really getting to be a problem. He should probably just get some rest. Maybe, since he was so tired, his subconscious would be too exhausted to fuck him over in his sleep.

TG: just saying dude if you ever get lost head to the middle of the building  
CG: HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHICH WAY THAT IS?  
TG: ok good point  
TG: surely prospits palace has its own inscrutable idiosyncracies  
CG: I WOULDN’T KNOW, I’VE NEVER BEEN THERE.  
CG: KANKRI’S THE ADVISOR, NOT ME, AND HE ONLY BECAME AN ADVISOR AFTER I...  
CG: LEFT.  
TG: ok im sensing theres a story there  
TG: i mean obviously there is  
TG: why else would you have ended up at skaia  
TG: on derses side  
CG: I’D REALLY RATHER NOT DISCUSS IT.   
CG: ESPECIALLY NOT WITH YOU OF ALL PEOPLE.  
TG: ok  
TG: just saying  
TG: when we first met i guess i kinda thought we were in the same boat  
TG: having been caught doing similar things and all  
TG: but then it turns out im long-lost fucking royalty and that whole idea goes out the window for both of us huh  
CG: YEAH PRETTY MUCH.  
CG: I... GUESS I THOUGHT THE SAME THING. ABOUT US BEING IN THE SAME BOAT.  
CG: HOW FUCKING WRONG WE BOTH WERE.  
TG: yeah but see im not so sure we were that wrong   
TG: i mean yeah for a while there it seemed like we were in all hells of different boats  
TG: like you were in this little wooden dinghy while i was living it up in my cruise liner   
TG: which may or may not have had several holes in the hull  
TG: but now we’re sort of back to being in similar ones  
TG: like i realised how many fucking holes were in my hull and you ran into a rock or something and now we’re both in shitty inflatable life boats  
CG: WHAT??  
CG: OK, DISREGARDING THAT GODAWFUL BOAT ANALOGY, HOW THE FUCK DO YOU FIGURE THAT OUR SITUATIONS ARE STILL IN ANY WAY SIMILAR?  
CG: NO, REALLY, I’D LOVE TO HEAR WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP SLEEP-DEPRIVED LOGIC YOU’VE PUT INTO THIS.  
TG: k you might have me there  
TG: but like  
TG: first we get arrested trying to enter the city for our own reasons whatever they may be  
TG: then we get sent to skaia  
TG: and now regardless of whatever fucked up bullshit might have happened in the interim we’re both in this maze of a dersian royal palace because our respective older brothers called us here  
CG: OK, SURE, THERE ARE SIMILARITIES, I’LL GIVE YOU THAT.  
CG: BUT THE FUCKED UP BULLSHIT THAT HAPPENED IN THE INTERIM IS, IN MY CONSIDERABLY MORE COGNIZANT OPINION, PRETTY FUCKING INTEGRAL TO THE WHOLE PICTURE.  
TG: yeah but you could just shove it all under the apt subtitle of “fucked up and traumatising shit” right  
CG: NO!  
TG: fine whatever  
TG: i was just trying to extend the proverbial olive branch  
TG: but you set that motherfucker on fire  
CG: YEAH, WELL, FUCK YOUR OLIVE BRANCH.  
CG: I FEEL NO REMORSE ABOUT THE ARSON I HAVE COMMITTED ON THIS OLIVE BRANCH.  
TG: hahaha  
TG: anyway im getting closer to you  
TG: i think im just around the corn

Shit, he hadn’t meant to send that, but eye-gaze technology was hard to use when your eyes weren’t working properly—and _damn_ were Dave’s definitely not working properly.

Before he could correct his mistake, a wave of dizziness washed over him, making the corridor swim and tilt. God, fuck, he was either going to pass out or throw up. He stumbled over to the nearest wall and leaned bodily against it. His breathing was heavy and laboured but every lungful of air he gulped in felt stale and insufficient.

This had already happened a couple of times today. It was annoying, but it had never lasted more than a few seconds. This time… well, this time it was lasting considerably more than a few seconds.

He slumped against the wall and watched the blurry scroll of grey text in front of his face.

CG: CORN???  
CG: IS THAT SOME LAME NEW FUCKING SLANG FOR CORNER?  
CG: ...  
CG: STRIDER?  
CG: DAVE?  
CG: OK, BY CORNER DID YOU MEAN TWO OR THREE OR FOUR CORNERS BECAUSE IT’S BEEN LIKE A FUCKING MINUTE.  
CG: AT LEAST FUCKING REPLY!  
CG: ...  
CG: AW, FUCK.  
CG: YOU’RE A FUCKING IDIOT.  
CG: AT LEAST TELL ME WHICH CORNER???  
CG: FUUUUUUUUCK!  
CG: FINE I’LL FUCKING CHECK BOTH!  
CG: FUCK YOU!  
CG: FUCK YOU FOR MAKING ME DO THIS!!

“Dave?”

Dave looked up. The hall was spinning a little less, though everything still looked a bit fuzzy. Despite that, he could tell that Karkat was really _glaring_ at him.

“’Sup.”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, you absolute fucking moron. Your brother better fucking deliver on his fucking offer.”

“…Offer?”

“I told you, your brother offered me _money_ if I could get you to come out of your room.” He crossed his arms, still scowling. “Not only are you an idiot, you’re a fucking asshole, too.”

“Pretty much.”

“And you look like shit.”

“Probably.”

“In fact, you look _worse_ than shit, you look like shit baked in an oven and then eaten and shat out again.”

Dave smirked. “Yeah.”

“Don’t look so fucking happy about it! Not that I’m one of them, but there are people who fucking care about you and who are worried for your well-being. Not that I understand _why_ they give a shit when you clearly don’t, but there you go. The enigma of filial relations strikes once a-fucking-gain.”

“Yeah,” Dave repeated. “I don’t know why, either.”

Karkat let out a breath and dropped his arms to his side, his expression relaxing a little. “Look… I don’t know what happened to you in the past couple of weeks. What I _do_ know is that killing yourself over it isn’t gonna help you.”

Dave frowned. “I’m not killing myself.”

“Humans can _die_ from not sleeping, you ignorant sack of dick-vomit!” Karkat shouted.

Dave winced. He’d forgotten how loud this guy was. “Yeah, after like, a couple weeks or something. Not a couple days.”

“Well, fine, how long were you planning on keeping this up, then?”

Alright, Karkat had him there. Dave honestly had no idea. “Probably until I pass out.”

On the bright side, he didn’t feel as dizzy anymore. Everything still felt a little surreal—as it had for the past twenty or so hours, with increasing intensity—but he could at least stand up properly. Sort of; he may have been swaying on his feet a little.

“Right, fine, whatever. Can’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”

“Warn me about what?”

Karkat honestly looked like he was about to explode. Instead he just said, through firmly grit teeth, “Never fucking mind.”

Dave shrugged. “Anyway, your white knight is here to escort you back to your room.”

Karkat face palmed—honest-to-god face palmed. “I hate you so fucking much.”

“This way, madame,” said Dave, and lead the way back towards the central staircase. He didn’t need to turn back to check whether or not Karkat was following—he could hear the troll’s grumbling behind him. It was pretty funny, actually.

“You don’t have to just talk to yourself, man, it’s not like you don’t have company,” said Dave, suspending a step so Karkat came level with him.

“I’d rather talk to myself than have to talk to you,” Karkat rejoined instantly.

“Would you _really_ , though?”

“Yes, yes, absolutely yes; a hundred fucking times yes. I’d rather sit in an atrium filled with a thousand different versions of myself and have a conversation about _human_ history than have to talk to you.”

Dave decided not to point out that technically Karkat already was talking to him. “Would you, though?”

Karkat scowled—a talent of his. “How many fucking times do I have to say ‘yes?’ Yes, yes, yes, yes, fucking yes! Because fuck you!”

“ _Really_ , though?” Dave shrugged. “I dunno, bro, I can forgive your ignorance because you obviously have no idea what it’s like to face yourself—and I mean, like, in a very fucking literal way—but trust me, you would not be remotely cool with sitting in an atrium filled with clones of yourself.”

“The fuck would you know?”

Dave didn’t reply. Karkat continued to glare at him, though the longer Dave kept his silence the less intense that glare was—out of the corner of his eye, he could see Karkat’s glare being overtaken with a Molotov of confusion and frustration.

“Well?” he prompted.

Alright, Dave definitely wasn’t ready to start delving into his own personal well of psychological discomfort regarding the whole… clone thing. Time-clone, specifically. Especially not here and now. “Forget it,” he said. “Sure, dude. An atrium full of Karkats. Sounds loud as fuck, but sure.” He glanced at Karkat, who narrowed his eyes. Yeah, it was pretty fucking obvious that Dave was avoiding something, but he didn’t have the energy to care.

Luckily, Karkat—despite all his insistence that Dave was the worst thing since sliced lizard-cat demon—had enough tact to not push the issue. Instead he decided to bring up a whole different one. “So, what was all this bullshit about not knowing you were royalty?”

“I already showed you.”

“You showed me a shittily drawn piece of shit that didn’t answer shit.”

“Fine. What do you know already?”

They reached the central staircase, and stopped. Karkat shrugged. “Only the part about you and your sister being ‘long-lost royalty,’ which is some pretty nonspecific bullshit. Did you wander off as kids or something? End up in the wilderness of Derse and only just found your way back?”

Dave wished it were that simple. “Nah, it’s more complicated than that. You can find your way from here, right?”

“Fuck you, I’m not finished with you,” said Karkat.

“Why do you even wanna know? Thought you didn’t give a shit.”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “I obviously don’t give a shit about you, personally. I’d just like to know how any fuckwit could _forget_ they were royalty and then somehow end up getting arrested by the patrol cops of their own kingdom.”

Dave sighed and sat down on the bottom step of the staircase leading up to the next floor. Without going into too much personal detail—because, as they’d already established, Karkat just _so totally_ did not give a shit—Dave recounted his whole origin story, or at least the parts which were relevant here. He briefly skimmed over the assholery of the King and the assassination ordered on him and Rose, and explained how the Witch of Time had stolen their memories and spirited them away to live as street orphans in the shithole known as Lohac, which was somewhere in the Kingdom. Dave actually had no idea where it was in relation to Derse City. He explained how Rose had discovered her Seer abilities, and how they’d lived in the Temple of Light in Lolar until just over two weeks ago, when, due to Rose’s Seer bullshit, they’d headed for the big city.

“I guess you pretty much know the rest,” Dave said. “We snuck in through the sewers and were spotted by a patrol. I told Rose to run so I could distract them. Probably would have gotten away if they hadn’t decided that a sixteen year old kid was just _such_ a big fucking threat and needed like five guards in order to be taken out. I mean, if that last guy hadn’t shown up I abso-fucking-lutely would have beaten their asses down.” He shrugged. “But then things would have gone differently.” He didn’t need to say how; they both knew—Karkat would still be at Skaia if things hadn’t happened exactly the way they had.

“Fuck,” said Karkat. He’d taken a seat on the opposite side of the same step as Dave. “That was… I mean. I still hate you, but… well, that was pretty brave of you.” He purposely avoided making eye contact.

Dave scoffed. “Maybe. Brave or stupid. Six of one, half a dozen of the other in most situations.” He paused. “I don’t regret it, though. Mostly.”

Karkat nodded thoughtfully. “So, if this Witch stole your memories…”

“I have them back now,” Dave said quietly. “That’s another long fucking story. Really don’t wanna get into it.”

“Right. Uh, sorry.”

“Plus, there’s way too much personal detail that’s crucial to the narrative and I know you don’t give a shit about that stuff.”

“…Right.”

They were both silent for a long moment. Dave stared at his feet. Bright red canvas—the proper, on-label shoes that he’d always secretly wanted but could never afford. The Temple hadn’t given him a very high allowance, and he’d mostly needed the money to buy lunch every day—they only provided lunches for disciples and acolytes, and he’d been neither. Every priest in that damn establishment always made a point out of reminding him how lucky he was to get _anything_ , and that it was only because of Rose—always because of Rose. He’d pretty much had to go without lunch for two months in order to afford his first communications device. Better that than having to brave the Temple halls every day to get to the computer room, and then having to put up with whoever might be in there already. Once he’d bought his comms device he hardly ever had to leave his and Rose’s shared quarters. Yeah… sequestering himself away wasn’t unfamiliar territory to Dave.

To think, though: that whole time, he’d been actual fucking royalty and not known it. Those temple assholes had regularly reminded actual fucking royalty that he wasn’t worth his salt. It was an especially metallic-tasting sort of irony, that one.

“I grew up in an orphanage,” said Karkat suddenly. “I mean, sort of. It wasn’t an orphanage at first, but… it became one. I don’t remember it being any other way, at least.” He scowled. “It’s the only troll orphanage in Prospit, and it’s less of an _orphanage_ and more of a home for mutants and rejects.”

Dave looked at him. He wasn’t sure what to say in response to that admission. “Why?” he asked.

Karkat shifted uncomfortably, drawing into himself; looping his arms over his knees and staring at the floor. “Kankri and I… we’re not—we’re not like other trolls.”

“No shit,” Dave said. “Oh, wait, is it… the blood colour thing?”

Karkat nodded. “Yeah. We’re fucking mutants. As far as we know, we’re the only trolls in the world with blood this colour. So… it pretty much meant there was no one to adopt us when we crawled through Prospit’s gates as wigglers.”

Trolls pretty much had a really weird and fucked up system of procreation and family structures. Perhaps slightly less fucked up than what it had been pre-integration, but fucked up nonetheless.

“Hence the orphanage thing,” Dave guessed.

“Sort of. The High Priestess of the Pantheon at least had enough fucking sympathy to take in Kankri, and then me, and then later just decided to have done with it and create a home for any and all otherwise unadoptable wigglers she came across.” He let out a frustrated breath. “Don’t get me fucking wrong, I appreciate the sentiment, it’s just… she and Kankri are always telling me that it’s not so bad to have this blood. Not when we share society with humans, a whole species who have the same blood. But that whole concept was in direct fucking counterpoint to the idea of being adopted into what became a home for trolls that no one else would take in.”

“I get it,” said Dave. “Your environment still implied that there was something wrong with you. Seems pretty fucked up.” Dave was dully surprised with how well he understood how that might feel, despite knowing that their situations had been… pretty different. But fundamentally similar, he supposed. Or maybe his over-exhausted mind was just jumbling things up.

“Yeah. So… I always kind of fucking hated it in Prospit.”

“That’s why you left?”

“Sort of. It’s a long fucking story.”

Dave _definitely_ understood that sentiment.

Karkat coughed, and stood. “Uh, anyway, I can probably find my way back from here.”

“Right,” said Dave, pulling himself somewhat laboriously to his feet. He kept a hand on the stair railing to steady himself as the vertigo descended over him, vision fogging over in black patches.

“Yeah.” Karkat peered at him, and if Dave didn’t know better he might think that the troll actually looked somewhat _concerned_. “Go get some fucking sleep okay?”

Dave smiled. “Whatever you say, Karkat.”

 

He made it all the way back to his quarters before Dave decided that it was the last place he wanted to be right now. He’d spent the whole last three days in there, and now that he’d finally left he wasn’t so willing to return anytime soon. It was late. There was no one around. He was literally royalty and perfectly authorised to go wherever the fuck he pleased—there was just no need for him to hide himself away. It was just habit to do so. Especially when shit hit the fan.

Dave stood in front of the door and was all too reminded of Saturday morning when he’d steeled himself to walk in, expecting to see his own corpse splattered across the carpet. It was all long since cleaned up, but the image appeared in his mind’s eye every time he noticed the rusted, broken chain still dangling from his ceiling. Dave was pretty certain it hadn’t been that rusted before, and _that_ reminded him of how the Witch had aged the cell bars right in front of his eyes in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t get it out of his head that it was his own fault his time-clone had died, whilst simultaneously knowing that it was something he had no control over. He couldn’t get it out of his head that since he had no control over it, there was every possibility of it happening again.

Perhaps he didn’t even have to be asleep for it to happen. He’d unintentionally fucked with Time while awake several times before.

He turned away from the door and trudged down the hall, pausing guiltily near Dirk’s quarters. He should probably apologise for being such a shithead these past few days.

It was late.

Maybe he’d apologise tomorrow.

He continued down the hall, then around the corner, and around the next corner, and he noticed the sitting room door had been left open—the light was off, so there was no one in there. He went in. He turned the light on. He closed the door behind him. This was as good a place to be as any. He was half tempted to pester Karkat again, just for something to do, but… yeah, it was pretty fucking late, and the guy probably needed all the sleep he could get.

Rose’s knitting bag was on the coffee table. Dave sat down on the three-seater and stared at it, all manner of wools and yarns sticking out of the top of the thing, mostly in shades of purple or black or grey. Poking out at one corner was a swatch of bright red. He tugged it out a little so he could see it better. It was still attached to a set of needles, but it looked like it was going to be a scarf. The wool was soft to the touch. He could recall Rose complaining about how the softer a yarn was, the more of a bitch it was to work with.

He had the decency to feel ridiculously guilty, which just made how exhausted he was more acute.

Dave flopped over on the couch, propping his head on the armrest and staring up at the ceiling. There was no chandelier in here. Thankfully. The very _idea_ of chandeliers just made him nervous now. Aw, shit—he was triggered by fucking _chandeliers_. He’d been to Skaia and survived ugly-ass lizard-cat demons; lived some of his early childhood on the streets; lived most of the rest of it in a temple where everyone except his twin sister pretty much hated him; yet _chandeliers_ were the thing to make his heart stutter nervously and his mind to recoil in horror. His whole existence was a complete fucking joke.

He was tired. He was so fucking tired. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to just… _sleep_. To sleep and not worry about…

“…Dave?”

Sluggishly, Dave opened his eyes. His mouth was dry and his body ached and his head was killing him. Rose was perched on the coffee table beside her knitting, peering at him with worry written all over her face. That seemed to be all anyone looked at him with lately. The room was awash with weak morning light.

“Hey,” he croaked, sitting up. His head protested—loquaciously. He scrunched his eyes shut and propped his shades up to massage his temples.

“Dave…”

“Rose.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted. His head didn’t feel any better, but he dropped his shades back over his eyes and looked at her. “ _I’m_ sorry. Okay?”

She continued to frown. “That doesn’t make me less worried about you.”

He hadn’t really expected it to. “Yeah. I figured, but… I’ve been an unbelievable asshole. Thought I should probably apologise.”

Rose was silent for a moment. “Actually, this is just making me _more_ worried.”

“Well, okay, fuck you too.”

She smiled briefly. “Apology accepted, Dave. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m sorry, too. For… not being honest enough with you. For keeping you in the dark. For being so insistent on a course of action without considering the possible ill-effects.” She sighed. “I’m able to See many things, but I’m completely atrocious at knowing when to admit that I’m wrong.”

“You already apologised,” Dave reminded her. “I was the dickhead who wouldn’t listen. But… thanks. Apology accepted.”

Rose nodded. “Thank you.”

“Just…” Dave’s gaze drifted towards the window. It looked pretty early, but it was hard to tell due to how overcast it was. “Tell me one thing. Did you know? About my…” he trailed off.

“Sort of,” Rose admitted, guiltily looking down at her hands. “I knew that you were like me in that you have aspect powers, but I didn’t know any details. And before you ask what I know you’re inevitably going to, let me ask _you_ something: would you have believed me, or even _wanted_ to believe me, had I tried to tell you?”

He didn’t have to think very hard about that one. “Nah.” He shrugged. “Point taken.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Then hopefully you’ll take this point, as well: you look like death warmed up, Dave.”

“Yeah. I take that point. I fucking _feel_ like death.”

“Let me see your eyes, Dave.”

He frowned, but in the wake of their heart-warming apology-fest, he obliged, once again propping his shades up on his head and trying not to squint too much. Somehow being in a city made almost entirely of black stone made his light sensitivity (which he suspected had been made worse by wearing shades twenty-four/seven since he was like eight) not quite so bad as it had been back in Lolar, but in the wake of sleep deprivation and the killer headache he had going on right now, the feeling of taking his shades off was akin to stabbing himself in the eyes with icicles.

Rose looked him directly in the eye for a few seconds before nodding. Dave dropped his shades back over his eyes.

“This was the first time you’ve slept since… since _then_ , wasn’t it?”

Dave nodded.

Rose was silent for a moment. “Sorry for waking you.”

“No big deal. I… hadn’t really meant to fall asleep.” He sighed. “Looks like I didn’t have anything to be afraid of.”

“I should have tried to better understand how you felt.”

“Well. How did you feel when you first started to… See?”

Rose considered the question, then smiled sardonically. “Terrified.”

“Then you probably understand better than you think.”

“It’s different, though—my abilities are passive; they hold no influence over my physical form or my environment. Yours are clearly active, given that they very much do. There’s no Seer who ever encountered their own cadaver and lived much longer thereafter.”

That brought up an interesting point. “Do you think you _could_ See your own death? Like, somewhere down the line?”

“I don’t believe so—not with my aspect, at least.”

“Huh. Well… that’s for the best.”

Rose’s eyebrows knitted together. “I agree.” She stood, offering him a hand. “Come on. You should go back to your quarters and get some proper rest. We can talk more when you feel better.”

He stared at her hand. “I need to apologise to Dirk and Roxy and… well, everyone.”

“It can wait, Dave. They’re just worried about you.”

That didn’t really make him feel less guilty. “So I keep being told.” He took her hand, and let her help him up. He thought he caught a flicker of relief in her eyes.

She led the way out of the sitting room. He didn’t protest to being escorted like some sort of invalid, and she didn’t let go of his hand until she saw him safely over the threshold of his quarters.

TG: regardless of whatever fucked up bullshit might have happened in the interim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah the gap between chapters keeps being longer than I want it to be but it might have something to do with how these past four chapters alone have increased the average chapter length by about 200 words. They keep being long. I didn't expect this chapter to be so long, considering it's entirely from one character's POV, but it's literally _the_ longest chapter so far. 
> 
> It was also very very fun to write and I hope you liked it ;D


	28. The Full Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“These tunnels the Commander mentioned,” Rose began thoughtfully, breaking the silence, “how much is known about them and their nature?”_   
>  _“Not a whole fucking lot,” said Dirk._

**i.**

“To summarise,” said Dirk, dropping the wad of papers onto the table, “any progress we thought we might have been making at Skaia—at least on our side—is now redundant.”

“That’s certainly… troubling,” said Jake.

“We can only hope that Prospit’s side might be faring better,” said Kankri.

“Depends on your definition of ‘better.’ According to Commander Peixes, when she last conferred with Commander Serket she learned that the horrorterrors have only been attacking Prospit’s side from a single direction,” Dirk explained. “As opposed to the Dersian territory, which has been attacked from practically all directions—including underneath. But it would seem that the attacks on Prospit have been more highly concentrated and intense.”

“So each side is suffering in different ways,” Kankri concluded. “Concentrated attacks are harder to sustain defences against, but a wider scope of attack directions has the potential to spread an army quite thin, if not catch them by surprise. I wonder if there’s any rhyme or reason to it?”

“About as much rhyme or reason as a leaderless army of hell-demons could ever possibly have!” exclaimed Jake.

“To be fair, we can’t be certain that they _are_ leaderless,” Dirk intoned. Though he really didn’t want to imagine what kind of being could or would command such an army, and judging by the uncomfortable silence that followed his statement, he could tell that no one else wanted to either.

It was afternoon, and, since they no longer needed the council in attendance, Dirk had called an informal meeting between Dersian royals and Prospitian delegates to discuss the contents of the manila packet Karkat had delivered from Skaia while they waited for Sollux to draw up the document that, with the eighteen signatures of all those who had voted in favour, would consummate Dirk’s elevation to Prince Monarch. Tomorrow they would draw up and finalise the terms of a truce; on Saturday the palace would be host to a banquet with the triple purpose of announcing Dirk’s new status, celebrating the truce, and formally saying farewell to the Prospitian envoy, who would be (as far as their newly-established timetable went) heading back to Prospit next Tuesday.

They were using the original council chambers for their meeting, being that they no longer needed room for nearly forty people. The room didn’t have as pleasant of an aesthetic as the Midnight Hall, but over the past week Dirk had come to associate that hall with stifling formality. Here, in this smaller room, in these altered circumstances, they didn’t need to stick to any particular seating plan. Dirk sat at the head of the table of course, facing the door, but the position opposite him had been left vacant as the others had all just sat where they pleased. Jake sat to Dirk’s immediate right (it was… different having him so close by, as opposed to on the opposite side of the room), with Roxy sitting to _his_ immediate right, her head resting on her folded arms. She was good at hiding it, but Dirk knew her too well to not notice that she’d had a few martinis before coming. On Dirk’s immediate left was an empty seat, to the left of which was Kankri, to the left of whom was Kanaya, across from whom was Rose. John was absent in favour of showing Karkat around the palace and its grounds, and Dave was, according to Rose, sleeping for the first time since Friday night. It had been strangely relieving and concerning to hear that news, but there would be time to address it later.

“These tunnels the Commander mentioned,” Rose began thoughtfully, breaking the silence, “how much is known about them and their nature?”

“Not a whole fucking lot,” said Dirk. “As far as I know, Dersian HQ was built over a sinkhole which was later discovered to be a tunnel system. At first it was thought to be part of a system that the demons used to travel to Skaia from the Furthest Ring. The most recent discovery is that it’s less a system of tunnels and more a system of dead ends, which raises questions as to where the demons are actually coming from.”

“What about this weapon?”

Dirk shrugged. “As far as I know, the schematics were presented to the King shortly before he disappeared, but he condemned them. However, he never forwarded the condemnation to Skaia. When it was officially decided that the King was missing and I became Prince Regent, the schematics fell into my hands—so I gave the go-ahead for its construction, because why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

“Why the fucking devil would the King condemn a weapon that has the potential to pacify whole groups of demons all at once?” asked Jake.

“Are you really asking that?” Roxy scoffed. “Why the fuck did the King do any of the inscrutable shit he did?”

Jake ducked his head sheepishly. It was cute. “Er, right. Forgive me.”

“What _is_ the weapon, exactly?” asked Kanaya. “How does it work?”

“I can dig out the schematics later if you want,” offered Dirk. “Not that it matters much now. Its main purpose was essentially to channel a joint attack known as a fraymotif—a specific combination of aspect abilities. In this case, the abilities of a Thief of Life and a Page of Void, our Battle Commander and Weapons Master, respectively. The weapon was initially supposed to be able to instantly kill the horrorterrors, but even after several rounds of testing and tweaks the best it could do was put them to sleep.”

“This weapon could still be an incredibly powerful ally, even so,” said Kanaya. “Why is the project being abandoned?”

“It channels a specific fraymotif,” said Dirk. “Fraymotifs are apparently exhausting under ordinary circumstances—finishing moves, really. The weapon needs to be pre-loaded with the fraymotif in advance. In other words, loading the weapon once takes as much energy as using the fraymotif sans medium, and despite all attempts to update the schematics, Zahhak’s weapons team hasn’t been able to develop a method of allowing the weapon to be loaded more than once. The result is basically a single-use mass blackout spray.” He glanced down at the papers on the table. “Which, as was apparently discovered this past Sunday, does fuck all once shit really hits the fan. The idea of the weapon was so that Peixes and Zahhak’s fraymotif could be used without both having to be present and without having to suffer the energy expenditure at the moment of its use—so that, if need be, they can still fight.”

“In a way, they _did_ achieve that purpose,” Rose pointed out.

“Yes, but with little other advantage.”

“Even so, it could still be a boon for use in situations _following_ the event of shit hitting the fan, not preceding it.”

Dirk quirked an eyebrow. “I’ll let them know. Keep in mind, we don’t really have the full picture here.” It was a fact that infuriated Dirk to no end. He wanted to be there, on the battleground, able to see whole board and know what needed to be done. Rather than having to put his trust in delegates—trustworthy delegates weren’t easy to find, and he’d never even met any of the personnel currently in charge at Skaia.

Rose inclined her head in assent. “That _is_ true.”

“Not to mention the fact that what was intended to be a range test on Sunday ended up wiping out nearly the entirety of two squads.” He eyed Kankri. He’d purposefully omitted the part of the report detailing Karkat’s role in these events. Judging by Kankri’s lack of overt reaction, so had Karkat. That was probably for the best. Dirk supposed he really ought to speak with him about what had happened.

“I’m sorry about the casualties,” Kankri said quietly.

Dirk shrugged.

With good timing, the door opened and Sollux walked in. Without saying anything, he approached Dirk and handed him the document.

“Thanks.” He glanced it over. It was standard stuff, just all the official political vernacular on the first page and a second page for eighteen names and signatures. “Do you have a pen?”

“Yeah.” Sollux handed him a pen. He signed and wrote in his name, then slid the document and the pen towards Roxy, who followed suit and handed it off to Rose.

“Kanaya,” Dirk began, “you took note of all the councillors who were in favour yesterday?”

“I did, yes. I have the list right here.” She produced the list and handed it to Dirk, who glanced at it before handing it to Sollux.

“I need you to get everyone on this list to sign the document,” he explained.

“Dave needs to sign, too,” Roxy pointed out.

Dirk nodded. “Sollux, I know it’s a fucking pain, but bring the document back to me once you’ve—”

He was cut off by the sound of the door opening again.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” said Rose.

Standing in the doorway clutching a mug in one hand, Dave raised an eyebrow at Rose. “ _You’re_ calling _me_ the devil?”

“Never mind,” Dirk said to Sollux. “Don’t bother bringing it back to me, you can process and archive it as soon as you’ve collected the signatures.”

Dave took the empty seat at the end of the table opposite Dirk. “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

Rose rolled her eyes. “You should really apologise for the meetings you’ve _missed_.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, too. And sorry about…” He glanced from Dirk to Roxy, who looked like she was about to leap up and tackle-hug Dave. “A whole lot of other bullshit.”

“We can talk about all that other bullshit later,” Dirk reassured him. He reached up and tapped next to his eye. “There’s a very strict no-shades rule in here, Dave.”

Dave frowned. “There’s no chance that isn’t a complete fucking lie, but fine.” He pushed his shades up onto his head.

Dirk had absolutely been lying. He’d really just wanted to get a look at the rings under Dave’s eyes—they were markedly worse than when Dirk had last seen him, and though it was difficult to tell from here, his eyes looked a little bloodshot, too.

“Just to confirm,” Kanaya began cautiously. “You _are_ the Dave from the current time?”

Dave blinked at her. “Uh. What?”

Rose grinned and slid the document and the pen towards him. “During yesterday’s meeting, we received a rather unexpected—but not entirely unfamiliar—guest from the future.” Confusion written across his expression, Dave examined the document. “He—or should I say, you—was the tie-breaker that allowed this particular motion to be passed. Or, at least, it will be passed when all eighteen assenters, including yourself, have confirmed acquiescence with their signatures.”

“Prince _Monarch_? Fuck. Wait, wait… hold on.” He covered his eyes with a hand, brow deeply furrowed. “Okay, hold on, let me get this straight. You’re saying that me from the future attended the negotiation meeting yesterday?”

“Briefly,” Rose confirmed.

“And he—uh, _I_ voted for Dirk to become… Prince Monarch?”

“Pretty much,” said Roxy.

“Which means that at some point in the future, I’m gonna have to travel back in time to attend that meeting.”

“If that’s how these things work, and I assume it is, then yeah,” said Dirk.

Dave uncovered his eyes. He looked… frightened. He swallowed, hard, and took a sip from whatever was in his mug (Dirk thought he could smell coffee). “If I don’t, I’ll create a doomed timeline or some shit,” he muttered. He picked up the pen and signed the document.

Dirk looked towards Rose, who was watching Dave with her eyebrows inclined inwards. In fact, looking around the table, everyone was looking at Dave. Which probably didn’t help matters.

“Sollux,” Dirk said, as Dave finished signing. “You can go get those signatures now.”

“Sure,” said Sollux, and collected the document and his pen on his way to the door.

“Where’s John at?” Dave asked after the door had swung shut.

“Showing Karkat around,” Dirk explained. He stood. “I think we’re done here for today. Tomorrow we’ll flesh out the truce.”

Roxy immediately stood and shot towards Dave. Rose was close behind her. Dirk supposed he should probably go join them.

“Dirk…”

Dirk looked to his right. Jake was standing with his hands gripping the back of his chair, having just pushed it in, staring beseechingly at Dirk, who felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

“I know,” he sighed. “And I know I keep coming up with excuses, but—”

“I understand,” Jake said hastily. “You’re a very busy man and up to your ears in all the fish you have to fry, I know. It’s just that… there’s suddenly an imposed time frame before I’ll have to return to Prospit.” He swallowed. “And I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

Oh, yeah. Shit. This time next week the envoy would be headed back to Prospit, which meant…

“I know how _I_ feel about it,” said Dirk. “Except that feeling seems to fucking change depending on what angle I’m looking at it from.”

Jake nodded slowly. “Then… I guess maybe I know how I feel, too.” He briefly touched Dirk’s shoulder and smiled. “I’ll let you chat with your brother and sisters.” He turned and walked the length of the hall, saying goodbye to Roxy, Rose, and Dave as he went.

As per Jake’s suggestion, Dirk went and joined said brother and sisters.

“Hey,” he said, sitting sideways in the chair to Dave’s right. Rose had taken the seat to his left, and Roxy was knelt between the two of them, her forearms resting on the table.

“So what was _that_ about?” Roxy asked Dirk, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“It was about… oh, that’s right: none of your fuckin’ business,” Dirk rejoined. “And anyway, it’s not important.”

“Uh, yeah.” Dave coughed. “So… yeah. Sorry for being a massive tool.”

Admittedly, Dirk _had_ been somewhat pissed off at Dave regarding his caginess, but close-up to the pale, tired, and quite frankly _sick_ -looking teenager in front of him, he only felt ashamed at the memory of his irritation.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Just… reassure me that you’re done for now.”

“Done being a tool? Yeah. For now.” Dave smirked. “Oh, and… apparently you owe Karkat cash.”

Dirk blinked. “I do?”

“Yeah, he said you told him you would pay him if he could get me out of my room.” He shrugged. “The dumbass went for a night-time wander and got lost. Guess who had to rescue him?”

Damn. Dirk really _did_ owe Karkat money. That was a smart ruse—if, indeed, it were a ruse.

“Do you feel any better than you did this morning?” Rose asked gently.

Dave looked down at his hands, which clasped his now-empty mug. “In what way?”

Rose sighed. “I was specifically referring to physically, but if you’re willing to offer details regarding your psychological state…”

“Pass. Physically, I still feel like shit that’s been baked and eaten and shat out again, but… that’s my own fucking fault, I guess.”

“Shit, dude, I’m not sure I wouldn’t react the same way,” Roxy said. Then she made a face. “Actually, I totally wouldn’t react that way. I’d probably just get, like, _suuuuper_ drunk.”

“That’s how you reacted anyway,” Dirk pointed out.

“Yeah, but…” Roxy frowned. “Geez, fuck, fine. Why don’t we just agree that it was a hell of a fucking thing that went down on Friday night slash Saturday morning and that we’re all really traumatised by it, but Dave is _especially_ traumatised by it because it more directly affects him in the short term _and_ the long term, and the way he reacted was, to a certain extent, completely fucking justified.”

“I didn’t actually _see_ any of it,” Rose reminded her. “Only the aftermath of it having been seen.”

“Okay, so on a scale of most traumatised to least traumatised, point A is Dave and point Z is Rose,” said Roxy. “Dirk and I are somewhere between B and Y.”

“Well I’m so fucking glad we sorted that out,” said Dave. “I suddenly understand everything. Anyway, yeah, I feel like shit on multiple fronts and I’m still scared shitless of the whole Time thing, but I guess… I guess that’s just a thing I’ll have to go on a journey of self-discovery to come to terms with, or some glib shit like that.” He frowned. “And somewhere along the line I’ll have to go back in time to yesterday so I can make sure Dirk gets to become Prince Whatever.”

“Prince Monarch,” Rose corrected.

“Yeah, whatever. Hey, how far in the future do you think that me was from?”

“A few months, at least,” said Dirk.

“Everything will fall into place more easily than you think, Dave,” Rose assured him. “I would know, after all.”

Dave nodded, and sighed. “Yeah. Thanks for all the brotherly/sisterly support and all that.”

Roxy head-butted his arm. “That’s what we’re here for, dumbass!”

Dave smiled. “Anyway, I should go find John. He sorta got unwittingly involved in my en-masse silent treatment and I should probably say sorry and… explain why I was being such a fucking tool.”

“If Karkat’s still with him, can you tell him I need to speak with him?” Dirk requested.

“Sure. What do you need to talk to him about?”

“Well, according to you I owe him some dough,” Dirk said. “Mostly I’d like to hear whatever he can tell me about the situation at Skaia.”

Dave nodded. “I’ll let him know.”

 

**ii.**

“So, as far as I can remember, that’s pretty much all there is to see around here,” John concluded. He and Karkat had ended up in the palace gardens, which were lacklustre compared to Prospit’s (especially under today’s apathetically grey sky) but still John’s favourite part of Derse. Largely because, unlike most of the city, there were actually some _bright_ colours here. Okay, so maybe Derse wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be, but they really seemed to have something against any colour that wasn’t purple. “Well, I mean, there’s probably plenty more that I don’t know about, but I’ve only been here for about a week and we’re only gonna be here for a week longer, so…”

“I don’t get it,” said Karkat, standing uncomfortably amongst the dahlias, “you’ve only been here for a week and somehow— _somehow_ —an idiot like you knows his way around this place better than one of the assholes who actually fucking _lives_ here.”

John laughed. “You mean Dave?” he said, giving a tentative sniff to some tall, bronze chrysanthemums. Man, thanks to Jade he knew _way_ too much about flowers. Not that he minded too much—chrysanthemums, in fact, reminded him of the times when he and Jade were little and still lived in the orphanage. Any time they were taken out to the park during the summer, they would wander off to the central gardens and collect chrysanthemum petals. Then, late at night, they would sneak into the kitchens to make chrysanthemum tea. As they drank it they would sit in the bay window looking out into the darkened street and whisper to each other whatever stories they could come up with. “Come on, Karkat, cut him some slack! He hasn’t lived here all that long, you know.”

Karkat huffed and rubbed his nose. “Whatever.”

“I’ve always been pretty good with directions and stuff, anyway. It’s easy once you figure out a system.”

“Right.”

“Shame it’s such a grey day today.”

“It’s fucking autumn.”

John frowned up at the sky. “Yeah.”

“Can we go back inside now?”

“Sure, if you want.”

They began to wander back towards the loggia. Derse’s palace grounds were laid out in a way that was almost _too_ geometric. They were set atop a sort of mesa, half of which sloped gently down into the city, while the other half was a dramatic sheer drop into the ocean. The gardens curled around the side of the palace from west to north, reaching out towards the narrow peninsula that stretched towards the east and encircled the bay. The peninsula itself was occupied only by untamed forest, separated from the gardens by a tall ebony-bricked wall, which melded into a banister closer towards the palace, the eastern side of which was almost completely flush with the cliff face. The eastern edge of the gardens was sort of like a balcony looking out over the bay. It was awesome, but also a little intimidating. What would happen to the palace if the cliff fell away? There was probably some sort of magic involved if it had survived so many hundreds of years without that happening, John supposed.

“So what’s the deal with you and Prince Shades McDoucheface?” Karkat asked as they walked.

“You mean Dave?” John repeated. “What deal? He’s my best bro!”

Karkat glared at him. “You’ve been here for a fucking week.”

“Oh, that.” John scratched a spontaneous itch behind his ear. “Well… Jade and I have been internet friends with Dave and Rose for years. We had no idea they were Dersian, though, I swear! Let alone _royalty_ , but they didn’t know that part either. At least Dave didn’t, Rose is a Seer of Light so I guess she figured it out or something…”

“Right.”

“But, hey, isn’t it crazy how that whole ordeal worked out with all four of us being royalty? Well, sorta. And then you and Dave happening to meet at Skaia? What’s the word for that again? Oh, yeah—serendipity! There’s been some crazy serendipity going around lately.”

“It’s like a fucking disease,” said a new voice as they drew nearer to the loggia. John looked up. Standing half-hidden by one of the gallery columns was one serendipitously-placed Dave Strider. “A plague of _deus_ _ex machina_. And you better believe that shit’s as catching as the fucking pox.”

“Dave!” said John. “You’re… well, you’re, uh—”

“Somewhere other than my own quarters?”

John swallowed. “Yeah, that. How are you?”

Dave shrugged. “Been better. I wanted to, well…”

“Apologise for being an asshole and ignoring John for no fucking reason?” Karkat supplied.

“Yeah, basically. Sorry, bro.”

John laughed. “It’s okay, Dave. I get that some shit went down and I guess you needed some time alone to process it.”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “How did you even fucking find us?” he asked Dave.

“You left your RadLink on, dude,” Dave said. “I was all ‘hmm, shit, how am I supposed to find John?’ And then I remembered how Dirk had said he was showing Karkat how not to get lost in the middle of the night like a child at a carnival, so I thought, ‘I wonder if Karkat left his RadLink on,’ so I checked, and what do you fuckin’ know.”

“What’s RadLink?” asked John.

“Radio wave connectivity app,” Dave explained. “Did Karkat tell you that he got lost last night and needed me to bail him out?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Karkat growled, tapping through menus on his device, presumably trying to turn off this RadLink thing.

“You got lost?” John asked. “In the palace?”

“Is that what we’re talking about here? Is that what you came here to talk about, Strider?” Karkat questioned, shoving his device back in his pocket and glaring at Dave. “You _really_ came all the way here to tell John about how poor fucking Karkat got lost in this labyrinthine palace last night? While you’re at it, why don’t we tell John how you nearly fucking passed out in the corridor and _I_ had to come to _your_ rescue to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently and indirectly contributed to the prince of Derse leading himself into an early fucking grave!”

Wow, okay. John looked from Karkat to Dave, who was frowning. It was probably the most genuine expression John had ever seen on Dave’s face, despite the shades still being in place.

“Actually, I mainly came to apologise to John,” Dave said quietly. “But fine, that happened too.”

Now John was frowning as well. “Dave… what happened on Friday night?”

“Saturday morning, if you want to get technical,” Dave corrected. “Alright, sure, it’s fuckin’ story time.” He gestured to the wrought iron bench against the wall. “Sit down and buckle up, gents.”

Both John and Karkat obliged—though Karkat only did so grudgingly, John thought. He wasn’t sure what Karkat’s deal was, or why he seemed so pissed off at Dave, but John had the feeling he was too curious about what had happened to just leave.

Dave faced them, leaning back against the column; arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other. He told them about how the lady who had tried to kill John last week (was it strange that John had all but forgotten about that incident?) was the Witch of Time who’d taken Rose and Dave’s memories. He told them about what had happened when he’d—at Rose’s urging—gone to talk to the Witch in the palace prison, and how she’d disappeared without a trace immediately following.

“Wait, so if I’m hearing this correctly, a very powerful, very dangerous, and potentially malicious Witch of fucking _Time_ is loose in the kingdoms?” Karkat interrupted.

“Pretty much,” said Dave. “It’s like Rose said: we were only able to keep her captive as long as she let us. How the fuck is anyone supposed to capture someone who can manipulate _Time itself_ to their will without any ramifications?”

Karkat looked disturbed, but he didn’t push the point.

“But anyway, that part is admittedly pretty fucking disturbing, but the part that’s important to the narrative is the fact that whatever the fuck she did to me not only left me feeling like I’d been tag-teamed by a bunch of pro wrestlers with iron gloves on, it also gave me back the memories she stole from me.”

“That’s… good, isn’t it?” John asked.

“Yeah. I mean… yeah, it’s cool being able to look at Dirk and Roxy and actually have memories of them being my brother and sister. Maybe it was the Witch’s gesture of peace or something, I don’t fucking know. But anyway, all that shit’s just the prologue to the main event. Here’s where shit gets really crazy, and you guys kinda need to bear with me and believe that I am one hundred fucking percent _not_ making any of this shit up. Man, I couldn’t make up shit like this if I _tried_ , or if I even _wanted_ to, which I wouldn’t.” He swallowed, and shifted uncomfortably. It was hard to tell behind the shades, but John was certain that Dave was neither looking at him nor Karkat. It seemed more like he was staring at the space between them.

“Alright, so, that night,” Dave continued. “I… well, I went to sleep. Then I woke up. Then I went to sleep again. Then I woke up again.” He paused, and swallowed again, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “And then I…” he trailed off.

“Let me guess, went to sleep again?” Karkat suggested dispassionately.

“No, actually,” Dave said coldly. “Then I sat up to see my own dead fucking corpse on the floor, crushed under a chandelier of all fucking things.”

John could feel his eyes widening. “Wh-what? Dave, that’s—”

“Impossible? Yeah, I fucking wish. Turns out the Witch who may or may not have tried to kill you isn’t the only asshole around here with creepy Time powers.”

“ _Time_ powers?” …Oh. Right. Yesterday, at the meeting, the Dave who wasn’t Dave who’d appeared and then disappeared and said something about... his past self? Yeah… John had been wondering what that was all about!

Dave sighed. “Yeah. I guess I missed the part of the story where, for the past couple weeks, freaky shit has been happening around me. Time-wise. That was how I saved your ass from the Witch last week, though I can’t help but suspect that she had more to do with that than I did.”

That… almost sort of made sense, John supposed? He’d found it odd that Dave hadn’t wanted to talk about how he’d known John was about to get attacked, but figured he just didn’t want to talk about it for his own reasons, which… yeah, it all made much more sense now.

“And I also missed the part where the Witch said I was a Knight of Time before Time-powering the ever loving fuck out of my brains.”

Knight? That wasn’t a class John had ever heard of, and ever since Jade had started coming into her powers she’d talked John’s ear off about classes and aspects and all related topics. He wasn’t really sure what to say here. “Uh… yeah, uh, wow, Dave. That makes sense, I guess.”

Dave raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. “It does?”

“Yeah, I mean… I was at the meeting yesterday, so…”

The eyebrow dropped behind the frame of Dave’s shades again. “Ah.”

John looked at Karkat, who was sitting with one hand cupped around his chin, covering his mouth, staring hard at Dave.

“You’ve been quiet, Karkat,” John commented.

“Yeah, Crab-cat,” Dave agreed, “you can’t tell me you don’t have an opinion on all this bullshit.”

Karkat slowly lowered his hand, his eyes flicking to John and back to Dave. He sighed and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Sorry I gave you so much shit,” he said, more quietly than John had ever heard him.

Dave was silent for a moment. “It’s fine,” he said eventually. “I would have given me shit, too.” Spontaneously, he barked a harsh and startlingly loud laugh. “Hey! Maybe at some point I’ll fuck up the time travelling thing again and actually get to _literally_ give myself shit for it, in person! Or maybe it’ll just be another corpse that I’ll get to give shit—either way, right?”

John frowned. “Dave…”

“That’s not funny, asshole, that’s fucking morbid,” said Karkat.

Dave shrugged. “Well, I am still a little sleep deprived. Anyway, Karkat, Dirk said he wanted to see you. Talk to you about the war effort and such.”

Karkat frowned, looking thoroughly unhappy. “Right. I’ll do that.”

Suddenly the situation had turned sombre in an unusually awkward way. John felt strangely obligated to fix this. He stood up. “Well, hey, you don’t have to go right away, do you? Why don’t we go into the town and visit that neat little pie shop that Roxy showed us last week?” he suggested.

“John, I am _always_ down for that shit,” said Dave.

“Great! Karkat?”

Karkat huffed, but stood. “Fine, sure, what-the-fuck-ever.”

John laughed and punched him on the shoulder. “You never fail to be the sunshine on a grey day, Karkat!”

DIRK: Keep in mind, we don’t really have the full picture here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so in the past couple of chapters this fic has basically become People Talking to Other People About Things. There's been a lot of dialogue. Writing a whole lot of dialogue all at once isn't as easy as it should be, but the he said/she said thing gets stale really fucking fast, so the difficulty is in... keeping things interesting. I'm really just trying to tie up a whole lot of things as I very slowly bring this monstrous fucking story arc to a gradual close. Just a few more chapters along this vein. Then... _stuff_. 
> 
> I mean at this point this fic is never going to end lol RIP me
> 
> oh also happy birthdays to Jade, Jake, Dave, Dirk, Rose, and Roxy because their birthdays are all at pretty much the same time. This is my gift to all of them, huzzah.


	29. On Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Quite honestly, Karkat had not expected Derse City to be so… well, rather more suited to his tastes than Prospit ever had been. Prospit was too bright and gaudy and the people were nauseatingly friendly. You could hardly go anywhere in Prospit without some stranger trying to strike up a conversation, and they’d always seemed to be particularly drawn to Karkat for some reason._

**i.**

\-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] \--  
  
GA: I Was Under The Belief That You Would Contact Me As Soon As Your Plan Had Been Enacted  
GA: But That Was On Monday  
GA: Now It Is Wednesday  
GA: Despite Not Having Been Given Many Specific Details As To This Plan I Cant Help But Find Myself Somewhat Concerned  
GA: How Am I To Know That This Plan Going Wrong Might Not Result In Your Death  
GA: I Have No Way To Know  
GA: I Can Only Sit Here In These Very Comfortable And Very Tastefully Decorated Guest Quarters And Wonder If My Friend May Have Gotten Herself Into Something She Cannot Get Herself Out Of  
GC: OH! H3Y K4N4Y4  
GC: UM... Y34H, SORRY 4BOUT TH3 R4D1O S1L3NC3  
GC: TH3 PL4N W3NT OK4Y  
GC: BUT  
GC: NOT W1THOUT C4SU4LTY 1 GU3SS!  
GA: Casualty  
GC: 1 M1GHT H4V3 4 BROK3N R1B OR TWO  
GA: Oh  
GC: 4444ND P3RH4PS 4 D1SLOC4T3D SHOULD3R  
GA: ...  
GC: BUT 1T W4S 4N OV3R4LL SUCC3SS!  
GA: An Overall Success  
GA: Grievous Bodily Harm Notwithstanding I Suppose  
GC: R1GHT!  
GA: I See  
GA: Terezi I Dont Expect To Get Much Of An Answer This Time Since I Havent Gotten Much Of Anything At Any Other Time That I Have Asked This Question  
GA: But I Feel Obliged To Ask Again Regardless  
GA: What Was The Point Of Your Plan  
GA: What Were You Actually Achieving  
GA: And What Did Any Of It Have To Do With The Paradox  
GC: TH4TS THR33 QU3ST1ONS!  
GA: The Former Two Are The Same Question With Different Phraseology So Its Technically Only Two Questions  
GC: W3LL OK4Y TH3N M1SS FUSSYP4NTS  
GC: 1 W1LL 4NSW3R BOTH QU3ST1ONS  
GC: TH3 PL4N 4ND 4LL MY 1NV3ST1G4T1ONS W3R3 C3NT3R3D 4ROUND G4MZ33 4ND TH3 M4K4R4 DRUG R1NG  
GC: 1 W4NT3D TO BR1NG 1T DOWN  
GA: I Figured As Much  
GC: R34LLY??  
GA: I Know That I Very Much Failed As An Auspistice Between The Two Of You But That Doesnt Mean I Wasnt Trying My Best And Paying Close Attention To You As Individuals  
GA: Ultimately What I Noticed Was That The Very Same Thing Which Drew You To Him As A Kismesis Was What Eventually Led To You Doing Your Best To Cut Ties With Him  
GA: The Very Same Thing That Had Long Since Led The Rest Of Us To Cut Ties With Him For Our Own Sakes  
GA: Theres Only So Much You Can Do For Someone Who Continually Spurns Your Aid And Refuses To Do What Is Best For Themselves  
GA: As Soon As You Told Me That What You Were Investigating Was Something Personal I Suspected It Might Have Had Something To Do With Gamzee  
GA: Especially Considering How You So Artlessly Changed The Subject Immediately Following  
GA: Admittedly The Stuff About The Paradox Threw Me Off The Trail A Little  
GC: HUH  
GC: W3LL... 1 GU3SS 1M SORRY FOR NOT B31NG 4S HON3ST W1TH YOU 4S 1 PROB4BLY SHOULD H4V3 B33N!  
GC: SHOULD H4V3 KNOWN YOU WOULD F1GUR3 1T OUT! >:O  
GA: If I Were Apt To Typing Faces This Is Where I Would Type Out A Winking Face  
GC: H3H3H3H3  
GC: 4NYW4Y B4CK TO BUS1N3SS  
GC: W3 C4N GO 1NTO D3T41L 4BOUT 1T SOM3 OTH3R T1M3 BUT B4S1C4LLY TH3 PL4N W4S SOM3TH1NG M3, QU33N J4N3, J4D3, 4ND 4R4N34 C4M3 UP W1TH SO W3 COULD C4PTUR3 G4MZ33 FOR QU3ST1ON1NG  
GC: B3C4US3...OH Y34H  
GC: B3C4US3 1T TURNS OUT TH3 QU33N D13D FROM SOPOR TOX1C1TY  
GA: Oh  
GA: I Suppose That Makes The Issue Considerably More  
GA: Well  
GA: Federal  
GC: Y3P  
GC: 4ND OF COURS3 TH3 JO1NT M4TT3R OF TH3 P4R4DOX W4S 4LSO SOM3THNG TO T4K3 1NTO CONS1D3R4T1ON  
GC: TH4T P4RT1CUL4R 1SSU3 C4M3 4BOUT WH3N T4VROS S4W G4MZ33S W31RD MUT3 COUS1N D3L1V3R1NG SOPOR TO M1TUN4  
GA: Oh Dear  
GC: Y34H...   
GC: 1T C4LMS H1M DOWN BUT 4T WH4T COST?? TH3R3D B3 NOTH1NG L3FT OF H1S BR41N 1F W3 L3T 1T GO ON  
GC: BUT F1RST W3 BUGG3D TH3 ROOM TO S33 WH4T KURLOZ W4NT3D FROM M1TUN4 4ND TH4T W4S WH3N TH3 P4R4DOX C4M3 UP  
GA: I See  
GA: It Figures That The Only People Who Might Have The Answers Are The People Who Are Either Unwilling Or Unable To Give Them  
GC: S1GH  
GC: TH4T DO3S S33M TO B3 HOW TH3S3 TH1NGS GO  
GC: TH3Y C4NT 3V3R B3 34SY!!  
GC: 1 M34N TH3YD B3 BOR1NG 1F TH3Y W3R3 BUT ST1LL!!!  
GA: I Understand What You Mean  
GA: Please Continue Though  
GC: OK W3 C4N COM3 B4CK TO TH3 P4R4DOX  
GC: 3N4CT1NG TH3 PL4N W4SNT 34SY 4ND 4S 1 4LR34DY S41D 1 D1DNT M4K3 1T OUT UNSC4TH3D, NON3 OF US D1D  
GC: J4D3 4ND 4R4N34 BOTH M4JORLY OV3R3X3RT3D TH31R POW3RS  
GC: BUT TH3 B4S1S OF TH3 PL4N W4S TO FORC1BLY CUR3 G4MZ33S SOPOR 4DD1CT1ON  
GA: Wow  
GA: Im Not Sure Ive Seen Gamzee Sober Since  
GA: Well Since We Were Practically Wigglers  
GA: He Fell Into The Sopor Scene Pretty Young Didnt He  
GC: B4D P4R3NT1NG >:/  
GC: BUT 4NYW4Y NON3 OF US 3XP3CT3D H1M TO B3 SO STRONG 4ND 4NGRY WH3N H3 GOT SOB3R   
GC: SO S1NC3 W3 C4PTUR3D H1M W3V3 K3PT 4N 4N43STH3T1ST ON H4ND   
GC: NOT TO K33P H1M UNCONSC1OUS JUST TO K33P H1M S3D4T3D 3NOUGH TO NOT B3 D4NG3ROUS  
GC: 1 ST1LL F33L ON 3DG3 4BOUT TH3 WHOL3 S1TU4T1ON  
GC: H3S 4 B4RD K4N4Y4  
GC: 4 B4RD OF R4G3  
GA: Hmm  
GA: Oh My  
GA: That Does Not Spell Good Things  
GC: NOP3  
GC: S33  
GC: 1V3 4LW4YS B33N UND3R TH3 D3LUS1ON TH4T B4RDS 4R3 R3L4T1V3LY H4RML3SS  
GC: TH3YR3 4 P4SS1V3 CL4SS 4FT3R 4LL  
GC: BUT 1 TH1NK 4LL TH1S T1M3 1V3 UND3R3ST1M4T3D HOW L1TTL3 W3 R34LLY KNOW 4BOUT TH3 CL4SS3S 4ND 4SP3CTS!  
GC: WH1CH 1S 4 PR3TTY M4JOR OV3RS1GHT FOR 4 S33R >:[  
GA: Even A Seer Cannot See Everything  
GA: Or Anything At All In Your Case  
GC: H3H3  
GA: But There Would Be No Point In Attributing Different Aspects To The Seer Class If Any Seer Were Supposed To Know And Understand Everything  
GC: 1 GU3SS TH4TS TRU3  
GA: Actually From What I Have Observed  
GA: Having Had The Fortune To Get Close To No Less Than Three Different Seers Of Different Aspects And Very Different Personalities  
GA: Is That Perhaps The Occasional Oversight Is Symptomatic Of Seerdom  
GC: HMM  
GC: YOU M1GHT B3 ONTO SOM3TH1NG  
GC: S1M1L4R TO HOW 1TS 4 KNOWN W34K3SS OF W1TCH3S TO B3COM3 TOO CONF1D3NT 1N 4ND R3LY TOO MUCH UPON TH31R 4B1L1T13S  
GC: 3V3RY K1D 1N PROSP1T KNOWS TH3 STORY OF TH3 W1TCH OF H34RT   
GA: The Witch Who Tried To Be A Thief  
GA: And Ultimately Destroyed The Heart Which She So Desperately Sought To Make Her Own  
GA: The Tale Is A Bit Trite And Overwrought  
GC: Y34H BUT 1T G3TS TH3 PO1NT 4CROSS  
GC: 4NYW4Y R3G4RDL3SS OF WH4T TH3 W34KN3SS3S OF 4 B4RD M1GHT B3  
GC: TH3 4GR33D UPON D3SCR1PT1ON OF WH4T TH3YR3 C4P4BL3 OF 1S TH4T TH3Y 4LLOW FOR TH3 D3STRUCT1ON OF TH31R 4SP3CT  
GC: BUT WH4T 1F TH4T 1SNT 3NT1R3LY 4CCUR4T3?  
GC: OR WH4T 1F TH4TS NOT TH3 ONLY FORM OF D3STRUCT1ON TH3Y 3N4BL3?  
GA: I Think I Might See Where Youre Going With This  
GC: WH4T 1F TH3Y US3 TH31R 4SP3CT TO 1NV1T3 D3STRUCT1ON?  
GC: 1T P3R3CTLY D3SCR1B3S WH4T G4MZ33 D1D!  
GC: H3 US3D MY OWN R4G3 4G41NST M3 4ND TH3 R3SULT W4S D3STRUCT1ON  
GC: MY 1NJUR13S, J4D3 4ND 4R4N34S 1NJUR13S, TH3 D4M4G3 TO TH3 G4RD3NS  
GC: BUT 4LSO  
GC: TH3 B3S3RK MOD3 H3 W3NT 1NTO W4S L1K3 4N 1NV1T4T1ON  
GC: 4 D4R3  
GC: H3 W4S D4R1NG M3 TO D3STROY H1S R4G3!!  
GA: Terezi You May Be Onto Something Here  
GA: But I Also Think You Might Be Looking At The Issue From Too Personal An Angle  
GA: I Suggest You Talk To Vriska About These Things If You Get An Opportunity To  
GA: She May Be Able To Help You Clear Your Vision So To Speak  
GC: >:/  
GC: Y34H M4YB3  
GC: 1TS JUST 4 TH3ORY 4NYW4Y  
GC: 1N 4NY C4S3 W3R3 G1V1NG 1T UNT1L FR1D4Y FOR TH3 S1TU4T1ON TO S1MM3R 4 L1TTL3  
GC: J4N3 W4NTS TO SP34K W1TH G4MZ33 P3RSON4LLY  
GC: PROB4BLY TO 4SK 4BOUT H3R MOTH3R  
GC: P3RSON4LLY 1 DONT TH1NK 1TS SUCH 4 GOOD 1D34  
GA: I Dont Like The Sound Of It Either  
GA: But That May Just Be Monarchical Loyalty And Affection Clouding My Judgement  
GA: Are You Able To See Something I Am Not  
GC: NO 1 JUST DONT L1K3 TH3 1D34 OF H3R B31NG 1N SUCH CLOS3 PROX1M1TY TO H1M  
GC: NOTH1NG B4D W1LL COM3 OF 1T 1N 4 D1R3CT W4Y BUT 1 4M 4NX1OUS 4BOUT WH4T SH3 M1GHT L34RN  
GA: Anxious As In Apprehensive Or Anxious As In Worried  
GC: HM... BOTH  
GC: 4NYW4Y B4CK TO TH3 P4R4DOX  
GC: W3 R34LLY DONT H4V3 4NY N3W 1NFO B3YOND SP3CUL4T1ON  
GC: 1TS OBV1OUSLY T13D 1NTO 4LL OF TH1S BUS1N3SS W1TH G4MZ33, 1TS JUST NOT CL34R HOW Y3T  
GC: TH3 OTH3R WORD M1TUN4 S41D TO KURLOZ W4S “UND3RN34TH”  
GC: 4ND TH4TS R34LLY 4LL TH3 CONCR3T3 3V1D3NC3 W3 H4V3  
GC: OTH3R TH4N TH4T 1TS JUST 4 LOT OF SP3CUL4T1NG 4ROUND TH4T 3XR4CT YOU S3NT M3  
GA: Underneath  
GA: Im Probably Not Incorrect In Thinking That The First Thing That Has Come To My Mind Is The Same Thing That Might Have Come To Yours  
GA: The Most Valuable Things Are Buried Deeper Than Gold  
GC: Y3P  
GA: With Your Permission I Should Like To Confer With Rose About This  
GA: Ordinarily Id Also Like To Bring In Kankris Take But Youve Already Instructed Me Not To Involve Him  
GC: TO B3 HON3ST 1D R4TH3R K33P K4NKR1 OUT OF TH1S COMPL3T3LY  
GC: BUT SUR3 YOU C4N T4LK W1TH S33R NUMB3R THR33 4BOUT 1T 1F YOU TH1NK 1T M1GHT H3LP, JUST M4YB3 DONT T3LL H3R 4LL TH3 STUFF 4BOUT G4MZ33   
GC: 1 DONT TH1NK 1TS R34LLY N3C3SS4RY TO KNOW FOR TH3 S4K3 OF SP3CUL4T1ON 4NYW4Y?  
GA: Probably Not   
GA: Ill Only Eke Out The Most Crucial Of Details For The Two Of Us To Verbally Toss Back And Forth To See If We Can Come Up With Anything  
GA: Perhaps There May Be Something Else Of Use In The Temple Archives  
GA: Speaking Of Kankri  
GA: Have You Spoken With Karkat Yet  
GC: UM  
GC: BR13FLY  
GA: Im Guessing Youre Keeping Him Out Of The Loop On Everything Too  
GC: Y33344H...  
GA: You Dont Think He Deserves To Know About The Transgressions Of His Former Moirail  
GC: SUR3 H3 D3S3RV3S TO KNOW 1 SUPPOS3  
GC: BUT G4MZ33S K1ND OF 4 SOR3 SPOT FOR H1M 4ND 1TS NOT CRUC14L TH4T H3 KNOW  
GC: SO  
GA: I Think I Understand  
GA: 1 Wont Say Anyth1ng  
GC: 4CTU4LLY 1D 4PPR3C14T3 1T 1F YOU D1DNT 3V3N M3NT1ON YOUV3 T4LK3D TO M3  
GC: K4RK4T 4ND 1 4GR33D TH4T W3 H4V3 SOM3 TH1NGS W3 D3F1N1T3LY N33D TO T4LK 4BOUT  
GC: BUT W3 4LSO 4GR33D TH4T TH3Y C4N W41T UNT1L W3R3 BOTH R34DY  
GC: 4ND 1 DONT TH1NK 31TH3R OF US W1LL B3 R34DY FOR 4 WH1L3, 3SP3C14LLY NOT W1TH 3V3RYTH1NG TH4TS GO1NG ON  
GC: SP34K1NG OF  
GC: 1 H34RD SOM3 PROGR3SS 1S F1N4LLY B31NG M4D3 W1TH TH3 TRUC3?  
GA: You Heard Correctly  
GA: Which Reminds Me That I Need To Leave Shortly So That I Can Go To The Meeting In Which We Will Finalise The Truces Terms  
GA: It Wont Be Anything Too Uproarious  
GA: What Might Be Considerably More Uproarious Is The Celebration Planned For This Saturday  
GC: >:O  
GC: 4ND 1 H4V3 TO M1SS OUT??  
GA: Unless You Find The Time To Come To Derse Then Yes Unfortunately Sorry  
GC: H3H3 1TS OK4Y 1 HOP3 YOU H4V3 FUN  
GC: M4K3 SUR3 K4RK4T H4S FUN TOO H3 N33DS 1T  
GA: I Shall Make It My Sworn Duty To Ensure That Karkat Is Having Fun At All Times  
GA: I Shall Be Karkats One Troll Fun Patrol  
GC: H3H3H3H3 ON3 TROLL FUN P4TROL!!! >:]  
GC: SO WH3N 4R3 YOU 4LL COM1NG HOM3?  
GA: If All Goes As Planned We Will Be Leaving Here On Tuesday Morning  
GC: OH WOW  
GC: 1 GU3SS 1TS GR34T TH4T TH1NGS 4R3 MOV1NG 4LONG SO SMOOTHLY ON YOUR 3ND NOW  
GC: 4ND 1M GL4D TH4T YOULL B3 B4CK SOON  
GC: W3 M1GHT ST1LL N33D YOUR H3LP BY TH3 T1M3 YOU G3T B4CK  
GA: I Will Make Sure To Be Prepared For That Potential Eventuality  
GA: But For Now I Must Make Sure Not To Be Late For This Incredibly Important And Indeed Historically Pivotal Meeting  
GC: OF COURS3!  
GC: 1F W3 DONT T4LK 4G41N UNT1L YOU COM3 HOM3  
GC: 1 GU3SS 1LL S33 YOU N3XT W33K!  
GA: Youll See Me Next Week Either Way  
GC: YOU KNOW WH4T 1 M34N  
GA: Yes I Know   
GA: See You Next Week Terezi  
GC: >:]  
  
\-- grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC] \--

 

**ii.**

Quite honestly, Karkat had _not_ expected Derse City to be so… well, rather more suited to his tastes than Prospit ever had been. Prospit was too bright and gaudy and the people (especially in the more well-off parts of the city,) were nauseatingly friendly. You could hardly go anywhere in Prospit without some stranger trying to strike up a conversation, and they’d always seemed to be particularly drawn to Karkat for some reason. Like, holy shit, if he was standing in line at the fucking grocery store picking up whatever he’d been sent to pick up like a god damn dog, he was _not_ in the mood for conversation—it was _not_ the line to a social club. Social clubs were a big thing in Prospit, too—practically every street had them. Karkat had been wandering around Derse all afternoon and hadn’t seen a single one so far, and the people minded their own business. Sure, the servers at that pie shop he’d gone to with John and Dave yesterday had been _friendly_ , but they were just doing their fucking jobs and being polite. They didn’t ask questions, despite the fact that they’d obviously recognised Dave.

So, yeah. Okay. He had to (grudgingly) admit it. Derse was okay. Maybe it was just because the dark paved streets of the city-fortress were a far cry from the barren plains and dunes of Skaia. Maybe it was just because wandering around leisurely, breathing the smoke-scented autumn air and gazing at window displays was considerably less stressful than being locked in a cell or fighting for his life against oily betentacled demons. It might have skewed his perception a little, the comparative difference to what he’d known for the past two weeks, the two weeks that had felt like months—years, even. Sure, it was over, but that didn’t stop things from feeling and _being_ irrevocably fucked the fuck up.

He… really did feel like an asshole regarding the whole Dave thing. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to hear, but it certainly wasn’t… what he’d heard. It was fucked up in the purest sense, but the most uncomfortable part was the odd sort of _recognition_ it had ignited in Karkat, one that he wasn’t sure what to do with. He didn’t know what part seemed familiar to him—definitely not the beholding of his own corpse, smashed like a Skaia-beetle under heavy-duty army-issue combat boots, but if not, then what? That had been the main event of Dave’s explanation. It had confused him and disturbed him at first, but after going and talking to the Prince Regent—sorry, _Monarch_ —he… well, he was even more confused and disturbed, but he had a clearer idea as to why.

The older Strider had mainly just wanted Karkat to recount every detail he could possibly recall about the situation at Dersian HQ: how the troops were being organised, the kind of schedule they were running on, the behaviour of higher-ups, et cetera. Karkat had been sure to point out that he’d been wrongfully incarcerated for half the time he was even there, but that at least their military prison was fucking air tight! Dirk had apologised, and assured Karkat that as soon as the truce was officiated, no one else would end up in Karkat’s situation, or Dave’s for that matter. The Crown would even offer a pardon to the convicts who’d been sent to Skaia—if they chose to, they could return home to Derse with no charges pressed against them.

Karkat hadn’t been able to stop himself: “And that’s a whole lot of fucking good for the ones who’ve been killed,” he’d spat.

There were two words that could pretty easily sum up the Prince Monarch: intense and unpredictable. Karkat had expected some sort of overt reaction from Dirk, maybe a sharp admonishment, maybe sheepish remorse. Instead he just got an expressionless, obfuscated _look_. “If I had power enough to bring back the dead,” Dirk said coolly, “surely I would have power enough to effortlessly solve many other problems which, for the moment, remain unsolved despite my effort.” He dropped his eyes to his desk. “But if you’re worried about the families, don’t. They’ll be recompensed.”

Okay, both of the Strider brothers were weird fucking dudes—so much so that Karkat found it hard to believe that Dave hadn’t lived here his entire fucking life. He wondered if the Lalondes were as strange. Probably. Maybe he should just avoid them until it was time to go back to Prospit; avoid having to ever find out.

After that, Dirk had asked Karkat to recount what had happened on Sunday from his point of view. He’d done so, except he’d faltered when he got to the part where the monster’s head… fell off.

“ _Fell_ off?”

Karkat huffed. “Well it sure as fuck wasn’t me, Nepeta claims it wasn’t her, and there was no one else close enough to have done it.”

“Interesting,” Dirk said, riffling through a stack of papers. “Commander Peixes was under the impression that it was most definitely your doing, but perhaps not intentionally so.”

Not this steaming crock of shit again. “If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, _stop implying it_. I don’t have any fucking… _aspect_ powers or anything like that.”

Dirk gave him that thoroughly, frustratingly indecipherable _look_ again, but thankfully didn’t press the issue.

“Thank you, Karkat,” he said instead. “Just one more thing: how much do you want?”

Karkat blinked. “What?”

“I won’t ask if it was a ruse or not—and if it was, it was a pretty fuckin’ good one—but the important thing is that you got Dave out of his room. So I owe you.”

Well. At least the Prince Monarch was a man of his word.

It was good, actually, to have some money—he needed new clothes, badly. All he had were the old rags he’d been wearing when he’d been caught and sent to Skaia, some army-issue duds, and some stuff Kankri had lent to him. Kankri wasn’t too much bigger than Karkat, so that wasn’t an issue, but what _was_ the issue was that Kankri, for some fucking reason, insisted on broadcasting his blood colour to the world with his ugly bright red sweaters, red shirts, even red-accented jeans. It wasn’t like every other troll didn’t do the exact same fucking thing, but that didn’t stop Karkat from _hating_ it and hating the idea of doing it himself. What was wrong with wearing nice, nondescript, non-labelling _grey_?

He was wandering around the city by himself that afternoon because there was no one to wander _with_ —the Dersian royals and Prospitian delegates were all holed away drawing up the final terms of the truce, and despite the council no longer being directly involved, it would still be a violation of the terms of the negotiations for Karkat to participate in any part of the proceedings, blah blah blah political bullshit that Karkat was, quite frankly, glad to not have to force himself to worry about. As if he’d be any help anyway. So, yeah, he’d gone and bought himself some nice, normal, grey clothes—just to last him until next week when he could finally fucking go _home_. Man. Home. There’d still been leaves on the trees when he’d left Prospit. He wondered if there’d be any when he got back.

“Hello there!” he heard behind him. He whirled around—he’d been staring at the window display of a specialty toy shop, specifically at a wooden wind-up pony that reminded him of a wind-up crab he’d had when he was young.

Standing way too close to him was a grinning maroon-blood with enough hair to stuff a fucking mattress. “Uh,” he took several steps away from her.

“You’re headed back up to the palace shortly, right? We should walk together.”

Something about that grin was really fucking unnerving. “Should I know you?” he asked.

“Oh! Sorry, my name’s Aradia. I’m a new apostle at the temple—a Maid of Time. I’m mainly here to help Dave with his Time powers, but for the past couple of days I’ve been doing… recon, of a sort.”

Karkat stared. “Okay, why the fuck are you telling me this?”

Aradia’s grin widened. “Because you’re Karkat Vantas!”

Karkat stared.

Aradia giggled, and gestured up the street towards the palace in the distance, a dark, immovable sentinel towering over the city. “Let’s walk as I explain—I don’t want to be late for Dave’s lessons.”

For once, Karkat had no fucking clue what to say, so for lack of anything better to do, he went along with it, traipsing mutely beside the animated, talkative stranger.

“Dave doesn’t know this because I worried it might put him off in his fragile state, but I’m sure you’re already aware of how those of my blood colour often tend to have telepathic connections to the recently deceased. For me, being a Maid of Time means I have access to a greater range of voices, voices that aren’t just from this alpha timeline, but from the infinite number of potential doomed timelines that are created whenever fatal decisions are made. Or maybe just decisions—a hero of Mind would be able to explain it much better than me, but the fact is that those who reach their end through doomed timelines _know_ things that we don’t know in the alpha timeline. Most of the _time_ ,” she winked at him, “it’s not really anything useful, but every now and then one of the voices will mention something pertinent. Usually I rely on my future selves for information—and I did get a lot of intel from a couple of future selves that decided to drop in and visit over the past couple of days! But those future selves must be from doomed timelines, because neither of them mentioned a certain name and title that I heard last night from one of the recently deceased—maybe even the voice of my own dead alternate self! It’s hard to tell sometimes. Anyway, the voice said: _Karkat Vantas_.”

“There are several fucking things wrong here,” Karkat said. “First of all, it’s creepy as fuck, the fact that you know my name.”

“The voices told me!”

“Yep, that definitely contributes to exactly _why_ it’s so fucking creepy. I think my skin is trying to recede into its own pores with how much it is crawling from how fucking _weird and creepy_ that is.” He shuddered. Aradia just looked amused, which made him want to fucking scream. “Second of all, how are you so fucking okay—completely fucking _chipper_ , even—with the fact that you might have maybe inadvertently doomed two versions of yourself and perhaps even heard the _disembodied fucking voice_ of one of them?!”

Alright, so people were staring as they walked past. Maybe he was getting a bit loud but it was for _good fucking reason thank you very fucking much!!_

Aradia shrugged and smiled serenely. “The easy answer would be that it’s something you get used to, but that would be sort of a lie. I’ve always been… closely connected to death, I suppose you could say. I talk to dead people every day, Karkat, and they’re doing just fine—death is really nothing to fear! That doesn’t mean _I_ want to die, of course. Being at ease with mortality makes life more enjoyable than ever, because what can compare to death? Once you have no fear of it, how can you possibly fear anything else?” She let out a blissful sigh. “It’s so much easier to do what needs to be done for the sake of the timeline once you’ve abandoned all worries and anxieties.”

Great. That sounded just. Fucking. _Great_. “Whatever you’re on, I fucking need it,” he grumbled.

Again, infuriatingly, Aradia laughed. “I’m just high on life, Karkat!”

“Right. What-the-fuck-ever. So, _why_ exactly did your oh-so-enigmatic voice of potential dead alternate-you think it was such an important fucking thing to whisper my name in your ear and… I don’t know, the way you tell it, probably cause her own fucking death or something morbid and fittingly paradoxical.”

“Well, you’re more like Dave than you know,” Aradia explained, once again giving a completely fucking useless answer.

“Sure. Right. I believe that,” he deadpanned.

“No, really!” Aradia insisted. “You’re both something that until now has never had a proper name—you’re both Knights.”

Karkat literally stopped in his tracks. “We’re both _what_?” She better not be insinuating what Karkat was pretty sure she was insinuating. He was sick to Skaia (AKA Hell) and back of people insinuating that he was some sort of… well… something!

“You’re both _Knights_ ,” Aradia repeated passionately. “He, a Knight of Time, and you, a Knight of Blood.”

 

They were on the central staircase close to the nineteenth floor when they encountered… _Aradia_. A second Aradia. There were two of the exact same person standing in front of Karkat on the stairs right now. He wanted to fucking bang his head against the wall to dispel this nightmare.

“Hi, Aradia!” said the Aradia next to Karkat.

“Aradia, hi!” replied the second Aradia. “I thought I’d set things up for you, like my future-self did for me—I met Dave after the truce meeting and told him that you’d be coming to his quarters for a very special lesson today. He’s waiting there now.”

“Great!” said the first Aradia. “Thanks, Aradia.”

“No problem, Aradia! Just make sure you do the same once you’re done.”

“Will do!”

The second Aradia beamed at the first Aradia, then at Karkat, and then she wasn’t there anymore.

“What. The. _Fuck._ ”

Aradia grinned apologetically. “I suppose it is a bit jarring, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”

Why would he—actually, no. Forget it. Karkat was so done. _So_ done. He wasn’t even gonna fucking well ask.

Just as Aradia the Second had prophesised, Dave was ready and waiting for his “ _very special lesson_.”

“Do we have to do this today?” he asked as he opened the door. Then he noticed Karkat. “The fuck’s he doing here?”

“Hello to you to, asshole,” Karkat said.

“Karkat is a very important part of today’s lesson,” Aradia said.

“Great, are we gonna send him back to the stone age or some shit?”

Karkat opened his mouth to retort but Aradia cut over him. “No, Dave. Why don’t we all sit down and I’ll explain?”

Dave sighed, but stepped aside to let them in to his rather underwhelming quarters. Aradia immediately crossed to the windows and threw open the half-closed curtains, letting in the dull, late-afternoon light. Karkat situated himself a little uncomfortably at one end of the single couch in the room, and Dave sat at the other. Aradia could have taken the stiff-looking armchair (leather, to match the couch), but she seemed perfectly happy to stand and flail about with all too much exuberance as she repeated to Dave what she’d told Karkat on the way here—minus the part about the disembodied voices, Karkat noticed.

“Well, great, I’m glad we still know jack shit about what that really even means,” was Dave’s reaction. “The Knight thing, I mean. Also, I know jack shit about what _Blood_ entails other than the red stuff that comes out when someone stabs you. Or, you know, whatever colour of the fucking rainbow you are. Not that it makes a difference, since the three of us are all red as fuck anyway. Which is fine, because red is rad.”

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up,” Karkat groaned.

“Karkat’s brother is a _Seer_ of Blood—he undoubtedly knows more about the aspect than I do. After all, any Seer knows their aspect comprehensively and is able to explain exactly what that aspect stands for.”

Karkat sighed. He was well aware that Kankri was a bag of wind who loved to exposit about _blah blah blah_ Seer this, _blah blah blah,_ Blood that. “Blood primarily stands for unity,” he began reluctantly. “Being a Seer of Blood, Kankri can see links between people—blood links or whatever the fuck occult-sounding nickname you wanna give them. Supposedly he can also see the best way to unify people on a circumstantial basis, or like… I don’t know, the best way to form a link with someone? The best someone to form a link _with_? Fuck, I never even pay attention to him when he goes off about this stuff, I’ve just had the misfortune to absorb it by fucking osmosis.”

“That’s a good place to start!” said Aradia. “Remember, Karkat, Blood is _your_ aspect, too, and you’ll come to understand it in time. Blood is also about compassion and understanding—which is related to the idea of unity. But it’s not always about _other_ people—it can be about the self, too. Blood may be the only aspect which allows its heroes to achieve a whole and unified self.”

“The antithesis of Time, then,” Dave scoffed.

Aradia cocked her head. “In a literal way, I suppose. Karkat, let’s talk about what happened on Sunday.”

Karkat scowled. “Why do you know _fucking everything_? It’s creepy.”

“Right?” Dave agreed.

“I don’t know _everything_ ,” Aradia said dismissively. “Okay, so. Tell us what happened, in your words.”

“Well…” Karkat sighed. He kept sighing. He just… there was no other way to react to this situation, he was all out of energy for _varying_ his fucking reactions. “I… I don’t really know what fucking well happened.” He folded his arms tightly over his chest, practically hugging himself. Practically _caving in_ on himself. “Me and Nepeta were both on the ground. She was about to get bitten in half, and there was no way I would have gotten to her in time,” he said to his feet. “So I… I don’t know, I tried to warn her to get out of the fucking way, but then, hey! Spontaneous agonising headache, and then suddenly the thing’s dead.”

“Holy shit,” said Dave.

“Right. So, with what we know about Blood, what conclusion can we come to about your _class_?” asked Aradia.

Karkat glared at her. “You tell us, genius.”

“At least try to figure it out! Dave?”

“The fuck would I know? Sounds nothing like what I’ve been through these past couple weeks.”

Aradia hummed in frustration. “That’s only because Time is a decidedly more volatile aspect than Blood—Time is a component of existence itself. Blood is more personal, concerned with people rather than anything so grand as the fabric of all that is. Time can’t be ruled—ultimately, Time rules us _._  Blood is a different story completely—Blood can absolutely be ruled, often to the benefit of those other than its wielder!”

“Great,” Dave intoned. Karkat couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.

“Alright, I’ll give you a little help. Karkat, Nepeta is your friend, yes?”

“Sure,” said Karkat. For some reason, she’d come to keep him company every single fucking day that he’d been squared away in that cell. No one else had given enough of a shit. “Yeah.”

“Which means that there’s a link between you and her, right? A blood link, as you said.”

“I guess.”

“How did you feel when you saw the horrorterror about to kill her?”

“I…” Well, she’d just saved his fucking life and he really hadn’t wanted to see her olive-green blood mingling with the pools of slick black on the cold stone. “I didn’t want her to die.”

“Exactly. You felt compassion towards a friend, and in your desperation, what happened?”

“The demon’s head popped the fuck off? Wait. Hold the fuck on for one second.” He couldn’t see how he’d decapitated a fifteen-foot horrorterror with the power of Compassion, but there was one thing that had been in abundant fucking supply in that cavern—all over the floor, all over the walls… all over everyone in the cavern, whether they were dead or alive. “Please don’t fucking tell me that there’s a literal side to this Blood thing.”

Aradia practically fucking jumped for joy. “You got it! Good job!”

“Wait, what? Did I miss something?” questioned Dave.

“The combination of physical trauma, compassion, and desperation was enough to trigger a surge of power in Karkat,” Aradia explained. “Just as the multi-fold trauma to your head, Dave, is what contributed to the instances of unintentional Time trickery that you’ve experienced. In Karkat’s case, this surge of power established control over the literal substance of blood via its abstract counterpart.”

“What.”

“Basically, me not wanting my friend to fucking die _spoke_ to all the blood on the floor or something,” Karkat clarified, “and it… fucking _listened_ , I guess, and decapitated the demon for me.”

“Holy fuck, that’s cool,” said Dave, much to Karkat’s surprise. “Man, this is bullshit—Karkat gets to behead a tentacle demon and save the fuckin’ day, and what do I get? My own corpse staining the carpet.” His gaze drifted over to the middle of the room, as if aforementioned corpse were still there.

“But what does this tell us about what a Knight can do?” Aradia asked insistently.

“If you know, why don’t you just fucking tell us?” Karkat wondered grumpily.

“Seriously,” Dave agreed.

“Alright, I’ll make it easy for you: what does a knight use?” Aradia inquired.

“A sweet fuckin’ sword?” Dave answered.

“Which is?”

“A weapon.”

“Exactly! Knights use weapons—a Knight uses their aspect as a weapon, you see? But what else would a knight normally use?”

“This is getting really fucking old. I don’t know, a shield?”

“Yes! So a Knight actively uses their aspect as sword and shield—in offense, but also in active defence. What is it that humans say?”

“The best defence is a good offense?”

“That!”

Dave looked at Karkat, who looked back. If Aradia was expecting this to be some sort of raucous revelation, Karkat sure hoped she was disappointed.

“Okay, cool,” said Dave. “How does that help me not create doomed timelines in my sleep?”

“Well, _I’m_ here to help you with issues regarding Time for as long as you feel you need help, and if Karkat so needs it, he has his brother to help him with anything related to Blood,” Aradia began.

“Not fucking likely,” spat Karkat. “I refuse to voluntarily subject myself to any of his mind-numbing, self-aggrandising, circular lectures.”

“Harsh,” commented Dave.

“Shut the fuck up, Strider.”

“Now, now!” Aradia chastised. “My next point is that as far as the Knight class goes, there are no veterans to give you guidance—you two can only help each other.”

Okay. Okay. Great. Fucking great. “Wow. Fuck.” This was _too. Fucking. Much._ Karkat sprang to his feet and started pacing, trying to work off the anxious energy that had been building for the past however long they’d been in here acting out this death-obsessed troll girl’s dumb fucking classroom fantasy. “So one minute, I’m a fucking nobody who was lucky enough to get bailed out of a whole lot of shit for the sake of—essentially—politicians currying favour with each other. Suddenly, _suddenly_ , within the course of two fucking hours, I’m a—a _Knight of Blood_? And I have to work with _this_ guy to, oh, I don’t even fucking know, go on a journey of self-discovery or some glib bullshit like that? For _some_ fucking reason!!”

Dave snorted. “Dude, calm down. How do you think I feel? I went from being a literal fucking convict to literal fucking royalty. Now I’m learning how to time travel. Shit’s fucked up.”

“Fucked up? _Fucked up?_ Fucked up doesn’t even… fucking… _begin_ to explain it!” Karkat covered his face with his hands for a moment, breathing deeply. Then, he dropped his hands, angled his face towards the ceiling, and just fucking _screamed._

GC: 1 ST1LL F33L ON 3DG3 4BOUT TH3 WHOL3 S1TU4T1ON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey look it's more of everyone's favourite show, People Talking To Other People About Things!!! Except most of the talking to people about things in this ~~episode~~ chapter was from Karkat's perspective, which made it inherently more interesting for me to write.
> 
> Man, usually I have so many more things to put in here but I got nothin' today.


	30. Nothing Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“How are you?” She may have been Queen, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite._  
>  _Gamzee’s hooded eyes drifted slowly upward until they met Jane’s. “I’m just fine,” he drawled, “’cept for these.” He rattled the chains on his wrists. “How are_ you _doin’, your Majesty?”_

**i.**

“I’ve asked a million times already, but are you _sure_ you wanna do this?”

Jane glanced at Jade in the mirror, but finished adjusting her necklace and turned away from the vanity before answering. “Yes, Jade. I’m sure.”

Jade pouted. Jane smiled.

“You look a lot better today,” she remarked.

“Don’t you change the subject!” Jade scolded. “Look, Terezi and Aranea think it’s a bad idea, and they know way more about this guy than I do, so I agree with them! But if you _do_ insist on doing this, I have to be there, too.”

“Jade, look,” Jane sighed, putting her hands on Jade’s shoulders and looking her straight in the eye. She looked uncharacteristically exhausted, her eyes a little bloodshot and her mane of hair in even more disarray than usual. “Terezi’s already given her word that nothing bad will happen. Their only concern is what information I might find out about my mother.”

“Their only concern is that since there’s _no chance_ the Makaras weren’t responsible for the Queen’s death, they might have designs on _your_ life, too, Jane, don’t you get it?” Jade insisted.

“I understand, I do, but he’s sedated, and the guards will be there even if something does go wrong.” Jane shrugged. “And you’re perfectly free to come along if you’d like!”

Jade scowled. “Fine,” she muttered.

 

Former occupation notwithstanding, Gamzee Makara was a prisoner of the crown, and as such was brought before the Queen with chains around his wrists. Drugged out as he was, he practically had to be dragged up the throne room aisle to where Jane sat, doing her best to look imperious and condescending (in her best imitation of her mother) whilst secretly feeling a little sorry for the lanky former-jester. The anaesthetist followed behind, looking thoroughly displeased with these proceedings (although he was being paid a pretty hefty wage per hour, so heaven knows why).

Terezi stood to the left of the aisle, chin up and both hands resting on her cane. Aranea stood beside her, hands clasped behind her back and all eight pupils trained on Gamzee, a tiny frown on her face. The two of them had insisted on being here, Terezi because she felt responsible for Gamzee, and Aranea because she insisted that her telepathic powers could come in useful. Jade, meanwhile, stood to the right of Jane’s throne.

Something that most people didn’t know about the golden throne of Prospit was that it was actually incredibly uncomfortable. It was said to be forged entirely out of pure gold—supposedly a soft metal, but Jane was quite sure it was just golden-plated, because there was _nothing_ soft about it. As such, she was more than happy to bring herself to her feet as the guards brought Gamzee to the foot of the dais upon which the throne was situated.

“Gamzee Makara,” she said as loftily as she could muster, gazing down her nose at the troll, who smiled vaguely at Jane’s feet. “How are you?” She may have been Queen, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be polite.

Gamzee’s hooded eyes drifted slowly upward until they met Jane’s. “I’m just fine,” he drawled, “’cept for these.” He rattled the chains on his wrists. “How are _you_ doin’, your Majesty?”

“I’m well, thank you,” Jane replied curtly. “I have some questions to ask you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gamzee said. “I knew it was only a matter of time before someone was all up and asking me questions and stuff.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Why did you think that?”

Gamzee shrugged one shoulder, the chains on his wrists clinking. “I dunno, bro, just this _feelin’_ I had, you feel?”

…No. Jane did not “feel” whatever it was Gamzee was referring to. She glanced over at Terezi and Aranea. Terezi was focussed on Gamzee, brow deeply furrowed, but Aranea noticed Jane’s gaze and offered a tiny nod.

Jane looked back to Gamzee, who was still smiling lazily up at her, pupils so dilated there was only the thinnest visible sliver of encircling amethyst. “I’d like you to answer me a very simple question, Gamzee,” she began, “did you have something to do with the death of the late Queen Crocker, my mother?” There was really no point in beating around the bush.

Gamzee’s grin widened lopsidedly, and his head very slowly tilted down then up again.

The atmosphere in the room palpably stiffened.

Jane said her next word very deliberately, her eyes—and surely, the eyes of everyone in the room—fixed upon the grinning juggalo in chains. “Why?”

He shrugged one shoulder again, his own gaze dropping to the floor as if it were too much energy to keep it on Jane. “She couldn’t be allowed to continue the way she was,” he said in sudden, unexpected monotone. “It couldn’t be motherfuckin’ allowed.”

“What couldn’t be allowed?” Jane asked levelly.

“She was gonna destroy it,” Gamzee practically whispered—Jane had to lean in to hear his next words. “She was gonna blow it the fuck up.”

“Blow what up?”

“The motherfuckin’ moon.”

Jane recoiled in visceral surprise. “The _moon_?” She _seriously_ doubted that her mother had wanted to blow up the moon—or that she would have the know-how and resources to even do so. The kingdom was well-off, certainly, all things considered, but they didn’t have the spare resources to be throwing around on a covert mission to blow up the _moon_.

Gamzee looked up again. His grin was gone. He nodded. “The motherfuckin’ moon,” he repeated. “‘Cause you know… the most valuable things are buried deeper than motherfuckin’ _gold_.”

Well, that made a lot of sense—not. Jane glanced around at her allies—Terezi and Aranea were wearing matching frowns and Jade just looked bewildered, shaking her head and biting her lip when Jane made eye contact with her

Jane figured it was time to move on. “What about The Paradox?” she asked. “What can you tell me about it? What is it?”

Gamzee laughed, a booming, lingering cackle that echoed through the room. Jane couldn’t help but flinch. “Ain’t no one who can just all up and _know_ what The Paradox is,” he said. “Shit’s an enigma wound up in a whole heap of miracles—and not the _good_ type of miracles, if you get what I mean.”

Yeah, Jane definitely _didn’t_ get what he meant. “Can you at least tell me if The Paradox is related to your assassination of my mother?”

“It’s like I said, your Majesty: shit’s a motherfuckin’ miracle wrapped up in a golden enigma that her previous Majesty was all for blowing to high hell.”

He definitely _hadn’t_ said that, but alright. “Might I take that as a yes?”

“Does it make a difference?” Gamzee’s grin returned.

Jane frowned. “I don’t know. Does it?”

Gamzee let out a lazy chuckle. “It makes _all_ the difference.”

 

**ii.**

Despite half of the Dersian council having voted in opposition to Dirk’s promotion, and many of them having declined their invitations to the triple celebration, on Saturday evening the palace’s Twilight Chamber—a large, lavishly decorated ballroom with a multi-domed ceiling and walls gilded with silver and purple velvet—was surprisingly crowded. The party was invitation only, of course, with each guest being allowed a maximum of two guests of their own. Kanaya had worried that since it was such short notice, there wouldn’t be enough people to fill this absolutely splendid space, but her fears proved to be for naught. Guests in all their finery milled about, socialising, laughing, eating and drinking from the generously laid tables, or dancing to the upbeat music of the jazz band that had been cobbled together at the last minute. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more pleasing.

“Those must be some of the lottery winners,” Rose noted, pointing out a group of young girls dressed in nice—if a bit cheaply made—outfits. They looked nervous. Their presence here was the result of a kingdom-wide lottery that had given out numerous invitations to members of the public. It was an idea that most of the council would surely have been against. That is, if they’d had the power to do anything about it.

Rose herself looked stunning, her makeup elegant and understated, every hair perfectly in place beneath her newly-polished royal circlet. The four Dersian royals wore the colours of their kingdom tonight, but none suited them so well as Rose: the black bodice of her dress was flawlessly tailored and the wide-strap halter perfectly complimented her single-jewel choker necklace. The skirt of the dress was in two parts—the first, floaty black chiffon which drifted along the floor and fluttered when she walked. The chiffon parted at the front, revealing the second part of the skirt—a glittery pencil-style skirt ending above the knee, sequined in silver and purple. The piece was pulled together by a smattering of silver jewels and sequins emerging from the parting in the chiffon and creeping from front to back of the bodice’s waist. Along with a simple silver bracelet, well-manicured nails, and a pair of sensible heels in a matching shade of midnight purple, the entire look was wonderfully elegant, and Rose looked marvellous.

“Do you want to go talk to them?” Kanaya asked.

“We probably ought to. I believe they might just recognise me.” Rose nodded towards them.

Kanaya looked back over at the girls, who had indeed spotted Rose, and were sneaking surreptitious looks at her, whispering to each other behind their hands.

“Let’s go formally greet them, shall we?” Kanaya suggested.

“We shall,” agreed Rose, and lead the way over to them.

Kanaya herself was wearing a much simpler outfit; a satin dress in her usual shade of jade green, floor-length, ribbon straps, and with a wide black lace ribbon around the waist, tied into a bow which sat snugly in the curve of her back. She always loved an opportunity to dress up.

After they said goodbye to the gaggle of girls, Kanaya turned around and almost knocked over Kankri, who was otherwise quite hard to miss in his carmine suit jacket. “I’m really not sure I like crowds of this size,” he commented, fingers restless on his champagne flute. “Too much to See.”

Kanaya frowned. “Oh, dear.”

“Are you unable to _stop_ Seeing?” Rose asked.

“With this many people about? Apparently, yes. When there are less people around it’s easier to turn my Sight off, but with a larger magnitude of people comes a larger volume of Blood and a greater extent of links, which is considerably harder to ignore. It’s like one voice versus an entire chorus of voices—as is also the case here!” Kankri rambled.

“Why don’t we go into the antechamber?” Kanaya suggested.

“It won’t be empty yet,” Rose commented. “But I’m sure Dirk will be making his grand entrance soon.”

Amidst glances and whispers, they made their way to the back of the ballroom, to a door behind the long, raised dais upon which sat the main table, piled high with sumptuous hors d’oeuvres and other palatial, easily-consumed apertifs. The antechamber was rather small and adorned only with a table and a few chairs. A door on the opposite side of the room led out into the hallway. The only occupants were the two Striders in their near-matching royal-palette formalwear—well tailored suits, black but for their waistcoats and ties: midnight purple waistcoat and glossy silver tie for Dirk, and vice versa for Dave. As was his right as Prince Monarch, Dirk also had his ceremonial sword sheathed at his right hip. The left side would have been traditional, but also wouldn’t have made much sense considering he was left-handed.

Dave, who was sitting on the table with his hands deep in his pockets, looked up as Kanaya, Rose, and Kankri entered. “Whoa, what’s wrong with _him_?” he asked, watching Kankri, who had stumbled forward into the room and had his eyes closed and hands on his chest, breathing deeply.

“His Sight was overwhelmed by the quantity of people,” Rose explained. “Dave, tables aren’t for sitting on.”

“And yet, here I am,” rejoined Dave, but hopped down anyway.

“Where are the others?” Kanaya wondered, remembering her promise to Terezi about making sure Karkat was having fun.

“Well, Roxy’s drunk already,” Dirk remarked, adjusting his cuffs in what _almost_ looked like a nervous gesture. “Surprise, sur-fucking-prise. I think she’s trying to drag Jake into the perilously vaporous realm of inebriation with her. As for the other two, they’re out there somewhere as well.”

“John wanted to have a look around,” Dave explained, now just leaning against the table. “Dragged Karkat along with him. Wanted me to go, too, but…” he shrugged. “I dunno. Not big on crowds.”

“Nor am I, as it turns out,” commented Kankri, who had recovered some.

“Neither,” muttered Dirk, straightening and rolling his shoulders, his right hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword. “Should probably get this shit over with.”

“It’s a shame Roxy isn’t here to complete the royal quartet,” Rose said, “but how about we all go out together?”

“Sure,” said Dirk.

“I’ll be shortly after,” Kanaya said. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your moment.”

“Don’t be silly, you wouldn’t be ruining anything,” Rose reassured her with a smile.

“I believe… I believe I might spend a little more time in here,” said Kankri, sinking into a chair.

 

**iii.**

Yeah, Dave really didn’t like crowds. After he, Rose, and Dirk had waited to be announced and marched out into the ballroom (feeling like a complete tool) to tumultuous applause, the crowd had swallowed Dirk and Rose, leaving Dave to fend for himself. He considered turning tail and returning to the antechamber, but that would probably seem a bit rude and asocial. Also, Kankri was still in there, and Dave wasn’t too keen on being left alone in a room with him.

So, instead, he decided to suck it up and said hi to a whole lot of strangers who were absolutely frothing at the mouth just for the opportunity to shake his hand. It was still fucked up, he thought, that these people were so enamoured with him for little reason other than the fact that he _happened_ to be born into the right family. They knew little else about him—although, he couldn’t _really_ blame them for being so in love with him by appearance, what with his outrageously good looks and slick shades. But what they didn’t know was that he was really just a fucked up teenager who had no idea how to be royalty. He hadn’t been raised as royalty like Dirk and Roxy had, and he hadn’t grown up as the centre of attention like Rose had. The very idea of being loved by anyone but Rose was still foreign to him, even with his returned memories, which, being that they comprised only the first four years of his life, were measly. The idea of being loved by hundreds— _thousands_ , even—for no good fucking reason made him feel a little ill.

Ill, yeah, and not in a good way. That was how he felt as he managed to finally disperse the throng of people who wanted to bask in his presence for some reason. He looked around for Rose—or, really, for anyone he recognised—with no luck. He was within sight of the refreshment table, however, and _thank fucking god_ because holy shit he really needed a drink.

He made his way over as calmly as he could and tried to pour himself a glass of water. It turned out to be a lot harder than it should have been due to how much his hands were shaking—okay, what the fuck, why were his hands shaking so much? Fuck this shit, fuck this shit _so_ hard, all he wanted was a fucking glass of water to maybe calm himself down just a little bit because man, great magnitudes of people smashed into one room, what a _great fucking idea!_ Okay, okay; he could do this. He just needed to pick up the jug, tip it, pour the water—

“Dave?”

He flinched, water spilling onto the tablecloth. He looked in the direction of the voice. “Egbert, what the fuck, look what you did,” he said, the words coming out a little too fast and a little too jumbled.

“Uh, sorry.” John frowned. He was standing way too close, but it wasn’t like there was enough room for him to stand much further away. Dave could see Karkat just over John’s shoulder, his expression questioning. “Dave, are you okay?”

“I’m peachy as fuck,” Dave said, bringing the glass up to his lips—which, once again, proved to be harder than it should have been. Fucking _hands._ He was sick of their bullshit. He was also sick of this crowd, making it hard to draw a decent god damn breath. And this fucking suit—it was suave as fuck but it was _way_ too hot.

John and Karkat were still looking at him quizzically.

“I think—” Dave began, his throat so dry it cut him off. See, hands? _This_ was what he needed the fucking _water_ for. “I think I need some air.”

John nodded. “Okay, let’s go get some air, then. Karkat?”

“Sounds good to me.”

It was like some sort of magic. As soon as the cool night air hit Dave’s face, he could feel the tension leaking from his posture—especially his ribcage—and his lungs relaxed bit by bit until he could breathe again. He slumped against the cold stone wall breathing heavily (what a damn luxury) until he remembered the glass of water in his hand, and drained it in one go. That was approximately around the same time he remembered his two companions.

“Crowds,” he said by way of explanation to John and Karkat, who were still just staring at him. “Fuck crowds.”

“I hear that sentiment,” Karkat agreed. “Too many fucking people is too much fucking noise.”

“Too many fucking people is not enough fucking oxygen.”

John made a face. “You’re both drama queens.” He levelled a look at Dave. “You are okay though, right?”

“Yeah,” Dave assured him. “Just do me a favour and pretend that this never happened. Totally uncool shit right there.”

“Definitely _not_ putting it out of my memory any time soon, then,” Karkat said.

“Wow, aren’t you supposed to just be _chock full_ of compassion and shit? Where’s your compassion, Knight of Blood?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s in the same place you left your… uh… control over Time,” Karkat attempted to retort.

“Weak.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Man, this isn’t fair,” John complained. “Why can’t _I_ have cool powers?”

Dave pushed off from the wall and strolled out towards the gardens, lit only by the light pouring from the palace windows. “You do have cool powers. Well, not _cool_ powers, but powers: the power to be a complete fucking dork.”

“Gee, thanks,” John deadpanned. “So… ready to go back inside?”

“Fuck no, it’s way better out here,” Dave replied.

“People will start wondering where the fuck you are,” Karkat reminded him. “You’re, and I quote, ‘ _kind of a big deal_ ,’ remember?”

“Let them wonder. Let’s play truth or dare or some chummy shit like that. ” He walked further out towards the flowers, turning and walking backwards so he could see if the other two were following him. They were, John with his corny blue bowtie and Karkat all in black, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest as always.

“Only if I can go first,” said John.

Dave shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, Karkat, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” replied Karkat in a typically curmudgeonly tone.

“Man, truth is boring. Should have made the game, like _dare or dare_ ,” remarked Dave.

They both ignored him. “Is it true,” began John, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face, “that you used to have a crush on my sister?”

Karkat’s reaction was instantaneous and loud. “What?! Fuck no!”

“That means yes,” Dave translated.

“No means fucking no, Dave!” Karkat shouted.

“Come on, man, you would _not_ be shouting at me if the answer was really ‘no.’ This is truth or truth, dude, which means you have to actually tell the fucking truth. Otherwise the integrity of the whole game is compromised, and where does that leave us if the integrity of the game is compromised? It leaves us not knowing—”

“Okay, okay, fucking… fine!” Karkat balled his hands into fists and stared _daggers_ into a patch of some kind of bright pink flowers. “Fine. Yes. _Yes_ , I _may_ at one point have had _very minor_ red feelings for Jade. Happy?”

John laughed. “It wasn’t a secret, dude, I just wanted to get you to admit it! Okay, your turn.”

Karkat shot one last glare at John before turning to Dave. “Truth or truth, Strider?”

That sneaky bastard. “Hm, tough one, but I’m gonna have to go with… truth.”

“Alright. Hey, Dave, why don’t _you_ tell us about an illicit secret crush from the past?”

Oh. Fuck. Alright. Okay. He should have known that this would be turned against him. His eyes flicked towards John, then back to Karkat. “Well,” he began. “Look at that, Karkat. Even more ways in which we’re alike.”

Dave had only seen Karkat smile, like, twice, and he wasn’t sure he’d _ever_ seen him laugh, but the triumphant grin that spread across Karkat’s face before bursting forth as a mocking cackle was _jarring_ —though not in a bad way.

“Are you fucking serious?!” exclaimed John. “ _You_ had a crush on Jade, too?”

“Fuck! You!” Karkat laughed, punctuating his words by shoving a finger towards Dave. “Acting so fucking high and mighty. At least I’ve actually met her in person!”

Dave shrugged. “Well, is she hot?”

“Dave!” scolded John. “Karkat, don’t you dare answer that!”

Karkat was too busy laughing his ass off.

John shook his head, shooting Dave an accusatory look. “I think you broke Karkat.”

Dave couldn’t help the grin that spread across his own face, or the laughter that broke free from his lips.

“It’s not that funny!” John insisted, but he was grinning, too.

Soon enough they were all laughing like madmen, collapsing into the flowerbeds as they gasped for breath.

 

**iv.**

“Er, Roxy, I really think you’ve had enough!”

“Jakey, _relaaaax_ ,” Roxy crooned, pressing the champagne flute into his hand. “This is for you!”

“I rather think _I’ve_ had enough, too,” Jake said earnestly. He’d only had a couple small glasses of champagne, but it was enough to soften everything around him—the light looked warmer, the quantity of people and the sound they created not quite so oppressive. Smiles came more easily and without him noticing as much—though, admittedly, it made balancing that slight bit more difficult. He wasn’t so far from control of his faculties, however, that he couldn’t tell that Roxy had had _far_ too much—Jake wouldn’t be surprised if she’d had a couple _bottles_ of champagne, he’d never seen her so drunk!

“Oh, come ooon!” she insisted, stumbling a little in her strappy black heels as she clasped his hands closed around the glass. Jake was worried she would knock it and get it all over either his snazzy emerald shirt, white bowtie, and black-everything-else ensemble, or her midnight-purple and black lace frilly party dress. She _did_ look lovely, if a bit wonky from inebriation. “I don’t wanna be the only one who’s fuckin’ drunk! I’m _always_ the only one who’s drunk, it’s lame as shit!”

“I’d really rather—”

“Dirky!” Roxy exclaimed, her gaze aimed over Jake’s shoulder. She let go of Jake’s hands and launched herself past him. Jake spun around as she shot past, watching her latch herself to Dirk with a tackle hug. The Prince Monarch looked incredibly—almost comically—unamused, holding his own glass of champagne out of the way with one hand and steadying his sister with the other.

“I haven’t seen you all fuckin’ night!” Roxy said when she finally released Dirk. “Where you been _at_ , bro?”

“Warding off brown-nosers, mostly,” he said darkly. He nodded at Jake, who smiled in reply. “Hope you two have been having more fun than me.”

“We have been having _sooo_ much fun!” Roxy said, reaching back and curling a hand around Jake’s arm. “Right, Jake?”

“The levels of gaiety have been higher than average, yes,” Jake agreed, once again at pains to keep the glass in his hand from spilling.

Roxy snorted. “Dude, that is literally _such_ a gay way of putting that!”

Dirk surveyed the two of them. “She’s trying to get you drunk, isn’t she?” he said to Jake. “How successful has she been so far?”

“Not successful enough!” Roxy exclaimed before Jake could get half a word in edge-ways. She let go of Jake and plucked another glass of champagne off the table, shoving it into Dirk’s other hand. “Why, Dirk! Your glass is nearly empty, you need another one!”

Sighing, Dirk drained the little that was left in his first glass and placed it down. Reluctantly, Jake sipped from the glass in his hand. Three glasses of champagne. It ought not to hurt, he supposed. It felt strangely illicit to be drinking alcoholic beverages, despite it being perfectly legal—it was just that it wouldn’t be in Prospit; the age there was twenty-one. Not even the Queen herself was old enough to drink.

Roxy cackled. “Good boys! Anyway, I wanna go find Rose, I bet she looks _suuuper_ pretty, and I bet her vampire-y girlfriend looks really hot, too! Oh my gosh, aren’t they just the fuckin’ _cutest_ together? I mean, not like they’re actually together-together or anything—yet. But anyway, I’ll leave _you_ two lovebirds to chat and dance and… I don’t fuckin’ know, make out or something!” She grinned. “Ta-ta!” And then she tottered off.

“Is she going to be okay?” Jake wondered, watching her meld into the crowd. Why yes, he _was_ aware of the heat in his cheeks from her parting wishes, thank you very much.

Dirk was watching her, too. “At this point, who the fuck knows,” he sighed, and practically inhaled the drink Roxy had pressed into his hand, setting the empty glass down with some force and picking up _yet another_ one.

“Good fucking heavens, Dirk, you might want to slow down there!”

“What?” Dirk looked at him. “It’s not like you can even really get drunk off this watery shit, anyway.”

“I beg to differ! I’ve had two glasses and I’m already feeling tipsy.”

Dirk shrugged. “It’s different for everyone, I guess.”

Jake frowned. They were silent for a moment, but the hum of the crowd and the melody of the band was sound enough to fill the air between them.

“Say,” began Jake, “a dance wouldn’t be _entirely_ off the cards, would it?”

“I don’t dance,” said Dirk. “Sorry.”

“Oh. Well… that’s alright.”

“But,” Dirk continued, “I thought now might be a good time to talk. Like we’ve been meaning to all fucking week.”

“Wh-what, here?”

“No, idiot, come on.” He wrapped his fingers around Jake’s wrist and started to lead the way through the crowd.

“Wait, where are we going?” Jake asked as he hurried to keep up.

“Antechamber.”

“T-together? Dirk, we can’t!”

Dirk stopped and looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Why the fuck not?”

“People will _talk_ , Dirk.”

“So?”

Jake held his hands up as if what he was saying was obvious and perfectly easy to understand—which it was.

“Fine, fine,” Dirk sighed, looking around at the crowd. “Meet me in the antechamber in five minutes?”

Jake grinned. “That’s more like it. See you there, Strider.”

Dirk nodded, and disappeared into the crowd. Jake’s heartrate picked up. Wow, this was like some sort of espionage mission or something. Sneaking around, trying not to let on that they were in cahoots! Jake did his best impression of _casual_ , sipping from his glass and wandering back towards the refreshment table, nibbling on a couple of olives. When it was time, he set down his empty champagne flute and meandered towards the front of the ballroom. It couldn’t be too obvious that he had somewhere to be, of course—he had to be cooler than a cucumber in the arctic, just wandering around the ballroom, checking out the décor, maybe heading out for a bit of air.

By the time he finally reached the antechamber, Dirk was tapping his foot as if he’d been waiting for an hour.

“I said _five_ minutes, not fucking thirteen,” he said.

“I had to make it convincing, Dirk!”

“Well, I’m sure you did just that. Good job. Your cover is perfectly fucking intact, well shielded from any errant wind that might seek to blow it clear away.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Point taken.” He looked around the empty room, gaze eventually settling on where he assumed Dirk’s eyes were behind his shades. “So…”

“Not here,” Dirk said succinctly. “Come on.” And he lead the way out through the other side of the antechamber, into the deserted hallway. He said nothing as he lead Jake down the hall and up a flight of stairs, the sounds of the party fading with every step. They didn’t go too far—only a few floors up and a couple floors over before Dirk stopped before a nondescript door, fiddling with the lock a bit before holding the door open. Jake couldn’t help but snatch Dirk’s shades on his way past.

The room was… well, it was fairly unimpressive. It looked to be a very simple sort of drawing room, though the room itself was overshadowed (pardon the ironic phrasing) by the wall of windows facing out to a rather sizeable semi-circular balcony overlooking the city, lit up and twinkling in a mirror image of the stars above them.

“Oh, wow,” was all Jake managed to get out.

“As much as I like my own balcony,” Dirk commented as he closed the door behind them, crossing the room to some sort of panel interface on the far wall beside the windows, “this one trumps it fair and fucking square.” He punched a button on the panel, and the wall of glass began to draw apart, receding so that by the time it stopped, there was no barrier between the balcony and the room. Even where Jake was standing near the inner door, he could feel a gentle gust of cool night air.

“Going to have to agree with you there,” said Jake.

 

“So,” said Dirk. “Talk.” They were sitting at the very front of the balcony, legs dangling out into open air, gazing out at the city. From here, the music from downstairs was just faintly audible, drifting up to meet them from below.

Jake frowned. “You sure don’t make it easy on a guy, Dirk!”

“Well what do you want me to do, hold your hand and guide you through how to make words with your mouth?”

And here came the burning in his cheeks. “M-maybe!”

Dirk blinked at him, then, almost aggressively, grabbed Jake’s hand. “Why don’t we start with the A-B-Cs?” His hand was warm and firm; callused and strong.

Chuckling, Jake looked down at their clasped hands between them. “Alright, alright. You’ve made your point. I’ll talk.” He paused to collect his thoughts. Dirk nodded silently but didn’t retract his hand, only relaxed his grip so it was less bone-crushing. Jake appreciated that.

It took him a while to figure out what he wanted to say, sitting there in the pleasantly cool night air, watching the twinkling city lights. Dressed to the nines, a warm hand embracing his own, a smidgen of alcohol in his veins—it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, which only hardened his resolve. Dirk didn’t say anything, didn’t show any sign of impatience—just sat there, a tender presence just an inch away from Jake’s left shoulder.

“I don’t want to marry Jane,” he finally said, relieved that, as he said it, he knew it to be true for sure. “That much I know.” He sighed. “She’s still my family and I _love_ her dearly, but the more I think about it the more it seems to me that our engagement was only ever a relic circumstantial of a, quite frankly, unhealthy family legacy, enforced by parents who were never there for us when we needed them.”

“So, that’s what _this_ is, then,” said Dirk, squeezing Jake’s hand gently on the word _this_. “Rebellion against your parents, against what’s expected of you.”

Jake looked sharply at him. “No!” he yelped. At least… he didn’t think that’s what it was. Gosh, he hoped not, that would be downright _cruel_ of him. “Good muffins, Dirk, for such a smooth and confident dude, you really do say some downright insecure things sometimes, you know that?”

Dirk shrugged and avoided Jake’s eyes. “You can never be sure what someone else is thinking.” He frowned. “My father used to spend a lot of time out here.”

Well, that completely obliterated the response that had been on the tip of Jake’s tongue. He’d never heard Dirk refer to the King as his father before.

“I used to watch him, wondering if one day I would become like him, maybe without even fucking knowing it.” He shook his head. “Nowadays, people tell me I’m hard to read, but when I think of ‘hard to read,’ I think of _him_. And I think of how I swore to myself to _never_ become like him, no matter what.” Finally, he looked up at Jake, his eyes all but glowing in the low light, like the golden gates of Prospit in the imminently setting sun. “Basically, I can understand if you _do_ want to rebel.”

Jake let out a soft breath. “In a way, I suppose I do, but I fear my reasons are more self-serving and cowardly than yours. The more I think about it, the more I _know_ I don’t want to be King, and if not for that, what other reason is there for marrying Jane?”

“I don’t know,” said Dirk, his breath ghosting across Jake’s chin. “I think that’s something you’d have to talk with her about.”

That… was undeniable. Jake nodded. “As for…” he glanced down at their hands again, then back up at Dirk, “ _this_ , well…” He laughed nervously. “I have to say, I told myself I was going bonkers when I started to think you might have… er… _feelings_ for me—before we even met in person. I certainly never expected to find that I was willing to reciprocate!”

Dirk quirked an eyebrow. “ _Willing_ to reciprocate?”

“Well, you know…” Jake grimaced. “Willing to reciprocate, as in… able to reciprocate.”

The eyebrow ascended further towards Dirk’s hairline.

“You know!” Jake repeated. “As in... into lads, rather than just ladies!”

The eyebrow began to lower and a smirk crept across Dirk’s lips. “That’s what I thought, but I wanted to hear it from you.”

Jake scowled. “Well, _anyway_. Those are my feelings on the matter. In summary, before you twist my words against me: I don’t want to be King, I don’t want to marry Jane, and I… I think it would be a nice little adventure. Being with you.” He smiled sheepishly, feeling warmth creep across his cheeks again.

Dirk stared for a moment, then leaned in and kissed Jake, very softly and very briefly. When he pulled away his expression was serious—even more serious than usual, that is, which was quite saying something.

“I should probably get back before I’m missed.”

Oh. Right. “Erm, yeah,” Jake agreed. “You go ahead, I’ll—I’ll stay here a little while longer.”

Dirk nodded. “Remember to close the outer door when you come in.”

As the inner door swung shut behind Dirk, Jake lay back and stared up at the stars. He felt comparatively cold, as well as strangely _anxious_ , without really knowing why—the tiniest knot in his stomach, uncomfortable and confusing and making him feel even worse by virtue of its presence.

He sighed to himself and lay there a minute or two more before deciding that he, too, should probably return to the revelries several floors below.

JANE: Terezi’s already given her word that nothing bad will happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd meant to post this like two days ago because I miss having my update-every-couple-days schedule, but predictably I had a busyish weekend and wasn't able to give this chapter the proofreading it deserved in order to post it. But, oh well. 
> 
> I feel like I should apologise for all the descriptions of clothes in this chapter, but I'm not going to. Everyone looks fucking fantastic and I had to meticulously prove it to you in _as many words as possible._ 'Tis just the way things are, friends.
> 
> Additionally, this AU isn't really a kingdom AU, it's just an AU in which Dirk and Jake actually fucking talk about their feelings at least once. Plot twist.


	31. Decryption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The book was barely larger than her hand, barely thicker than her finger, but meticulously bound in embossed black leather nonetheless. She looked up at Kanaya, who stood above her, watching. “When you were telling me what your friend had discovered,” Rose began, “I think it was when you mentioned something about a moon that I knew what to do.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads up:** This chapter has some images in it, some of which are essential to the chapter. If the image breaks at all, first of all you should let me know via the comment section; second, every image has a description which you can view by mousing over (on desktop) or holding your finger down on (on mobile) the image or broken image icon.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Kanaya, sounding alarmed and slightly out of breath.

“Certain!” confirmed Rose, briefly glancing back at the troll before continuing her march along the rows of shelves. Admittedly, she wasn’t certain as to what she was looking for specifically, but knew that she was headed in the right direction. “The only part that’s ever wrong about my Sight is the way I interpret it—and this was far too specific to leave any doubt.”

Kanaya sighed, but continued following, almost walking straight into Rose as she practically skidded to a stop with no prior warning—the Seer herself hadn’t anticipated her own actions; she was merely following a very strong, very bright intuition.

“It’s here,” she said, a little out of breath herself.

“I would ask for clarification, but I’m familiar enough with how Seers tend to do things to know better,” Kanaya commented.

Rose threw her an apologetic smile before strolling down the aisle, running her fingers along the spines of leather-bound tomes, looking for the right one. “It _will_ become clear,” she promised, drawn to a book at the far end of the bottom shelf on the left-hand side, one so small it was easy to miss amongst its weightier companions. She knelt and slid it from the shelf. The book was barely larger than her hand, barely thicker than her finger, but meticulously bound in embossed black leather nonetheless. She looked up at Kanaya, who stood above her, watching. “When you were telling me what your friend had discovered,” Rose began, “I think it was when you mentioned something about a moon that I knew what to do.”

Kanaya knelt beside Rose. “What is it?” she asked, indicating the book in Rose’s hands.

“I don’t know,” said Rose. “Let’s find out.”

She opened the book. The pages were stiff with age, and didn’t turn easily. The first few pages were blank. The next nine pages, however, were written in an alphabet which, though not unfamiliar to Rose, was somewhat of a surprise to encounter.

**  
**

“What language is that?” asked Kanaya curiously. “It looks alien, but it isn’t Alternian.”

 “It’s pigpen,” Rose laughed, “Dave and I used to write each other notes in pigpen when we were younger, just for fun. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it.”

“You can translate it, then?” Kanaya asked, sounding—if Rose thought so herself—impressed.

“Oh, of course,” Rose affirmed with a smile. “I’ll need to write down the key, though. As I said, it _has_ been a while.”

She lead the way back the table they usually worked at, grabbing a pen and a spare bit of paper and drawing a key to help her translate the cipher: two three-by-three grids (minus outside borders) and two crosses. She dotted each section of the second of each, and then wrote in the corresponding letters of the alphabet.

“I see,” said Kanaya thoughtfully, watching over Rose’s shoulder. “It really is quite simple, and yet, if not for your knowledge, I know that I would have been completely baffled.”

“Cryptography is really quite enjoyable,” said Rose. “To entertain ourselves in the Temple of Light, Dave and I used to make up codes—our own variations on pigpen ciphers, number codes and the like—and challenge each other to break them. I… well, I have somewhat of an advantage with these sorts of things, being that my Sight tends to point me towards the solution. Suffice it to say, Dave quickly became rather frustrated with the inequality and refused to play.” She frowned. She could hardly think of their time in Lolar anymore (had it really only been three weeks?) without guilt coursing through her. She’d _known_ Dave wasn’t happy there, of course she had, and yet she hadn’t done anything about it purely for the sake of—

“It’s not your fault,” said Kanaya softly, touching a hand to Rose’s shoulder. “You didn’t choose to be a Seer of Light any more than he chose to be a Knight of Time, or I a Sylph of Space. Or any of us to even be brought into this world in the first place.”

“I know, Kanaya. Thank you,” Rose replied. She smirked coyly. “Sometimes I really have to wonder if you can read my mind.”

Kanaya grinned, showing off her perfectly-shaped ivory fangs. “I can’t read minds,” she clarified, “but I like to think I can read expressions and body language. Anyway, shall we decipher this code?”

“We shall.” Rose turned back to the book. “So, then, this first letter is a ‘P’,” she wrote it down, then the next letter, ‘R’, until she had decrypted the first three words.

“Prospit and Derse,” read Kanaya. “Wow.”

“I know!” agreed Rose, feeling giddy with excitement. “We’ll find something useful in here, I _know_ it. No one would ever go to all the trouble of encrypting something and secreting it away if they wanted just anyone to read it.” Although something was bugging her about the mode of encryption: pigpen was incredibly common and well known, and, really, not a very difficult nut to crack even to those unfamiliar with it.

She continued transcribing the cipher, but after only five words her enthusiasm quickly turned to dismay.

“It’s gibberish,” she said.

“That it is,” said Kanaya uneasily.

“This can’t be right, I translated the first three words in the exact same way—am I missing something?” she looked helplessly between what she had written, the open book, and her key.

“Perhaps it’s supposed to be gibberish,” suggested Kanaya. “Either way, I think you should keep translating it.”

Of course. Rose had _just_ been worrying about how easy pigpen was to decipher. She laughed.

“You’re right, I’m quite sure it _is_ supposed to be gibberish,” she said. “‘Prospit and Derse’ is merely the title. As for the rest, this is only the first level of encryption.”

Kanaya hummed. “I’m not entirely certain what that means, but please, continue.”

Rose did. After the first page her familiarity with the cipher came back to her, and for the rest of the text it was little more slow-going than copying a passage from any other book.

Eventually, she had filled the page she was writing on with four paragraphs of nonsensical jumbled letters—three long and one short.

“So…” began Kanaya. “Where do we go from here?”

“I’m not sure,” Rose admitted. “It’s probably a substitution cipher, I’m just not sure what sort.”

Kanaya reached over and picked up the book. “How would you normally figure it out?”

“Well, ordinarily you would look for words that might be particles—‘a’, ‘the’, ‘and,’ et cetera. But there are no words less than three letters, and very few of those—not enough of them to be particles, and certainly not in places that any particle would ordinarily be.”

“Might it have something to do with this?” Kanaya asked, holding up a piece of folded paper, as aged as the pages of the book. “It was in the back cover.”

Rose took the paper and unfolded it. If she expected anything, she certainly wasn’t expecting what she saw—a thirteen-by-thirteen multiplication table, with the letters ‘A’ through ‘M’ and ‘N’ through ‘Z’ written atop and alongside both the vertical and horizontal axes. Underneath the table, encircled, was the number ’52.’

Rose frowned. “I’m not sure how this—” she stopped, some part of her attention that was _her_ and yet _not her_ honing in on the number written at the bottom of the page.

“Not sure how it what?” Kanaya asked.

“Fifty-two,” said Rose. “Four times thirteen, it’s right there on the grid.”

“Alright,” said Kanaya patiently. “And?”

“It’s the key. Sort of—there are four levels to the message, and the number thirteen has something to do the second and third. I believe the fourth level might be the original text.”

“That’s helpful, but we’re not all that much closer to translating this gibberish,” Kanaya pointed out.

“No, but I know who can help us,” Rose said with a grin, opening the pesterchum module on her circlet as she said it. “I’ll invite you to the memo.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

tentacleTherapist [TT] opened memo on board crytoCracking.  
  
TT: Roxy, are you awake?  
TT: I need your help with something **.**  
tipsyGnostalgic [TG] responded to memo.  
TG: uuuggghghghhgjhdfjkgdjfgdjf  
TG: im awake  
TG: unfortunately :(  
TG: my hea dfuckin HURST  
TG: *head  
TG: *hurts  
TT: Still hungover?  
TG: YES STIL HUGOVER ROSE THSE THINGS LAST FORVER  
TG: *typos ugh  
TT: Hmm.  
TG: whadday need  
TT: I’m trying to crack a code.  
TG: ohhhhhh??  
TT: Yes. Does the number 13 mean anything to you, concerning cryptography?  
TG: uh yeah duh  
TG: fuckn rot 13 dude  
TT: Rot 13?  
TG: ROT-!# i mean  
TG: fuk  
TG: *ROT-12  
TG: omg  
TT: ROT-13?  
TG: ye that  
TG: its a subtitsutoin cipher  
TG: *subtitution  
TG: *...sub  
TG: *submarine  
TT: I thought so.   
TG: y are we in a board who eles is here  
grimAuxiliatrix [GA] responded to memo.  
GA: That Would Be Me  
GA: I Ordinarily Would Not Ask To Intrude But As Rose And I Are Working On This Cipher Together I Suppose She Thought It Prudent To Include Me In The Discussion  
TG: daww  
TG: cute rose  
TT: So how does this ROT-13 cipher work? I don’t believe I’ve ever come across it myself.  
TG: pfffft its like the most basci fukn sub cipher   
TG: the rot is short for rotat  
TG: *rotate  
TG: so its rorate by 13  
TG: which is 1/2 the alphaebt btw  
TT: Really? I wasn’t aware.  
TG: yeah w/e shh  
TG: so u get  
TG: abc to m  
TG: nd nop to z  
TG: n then put 1 on top of th other  
TG: so lik  
TG: a=n m=z etce tc etc and vis a versa  
GA: I Believe You Mean Vice Versa  
TG: ye  
TT: Hmm. This makes a lot of sense with the information we already have.

Rose looked at the grid again. Sure enough, the letters atop the grid’s axes aligned in exactly the fashion Roxy had described. The first letter in the message was ‘R’, which corresponded to ‘E’, and ‘V’ which corresponded to ‘I’, until…

“Eight,” said Rose. “The first word is eight.”

“That seems a strange word to start a sentence with,” Kanaya remarked.

“Well, there’s another level of encryption after this one. Light only knows what sort of cipher _that_ level uses.”

TG: wat r you guys crackin anyway??  
TG: if u send me the stuff i can put it thru a nifty lil thin thatll crsck it in 1 sec  
TG: *crack  
TG: *dont do it  
TG: *dont do crac i mean  
TG: *lol drugs  
TT: I’d have to type it out first. Or, you would have to. It’s handwritten.  
TG: um rose wat do u take me for  
TG: some chimp who DOESNT hav an img 2 txt scanning thign?  
TG: *...  
TG: *chimp is eggsacktly wat i ment  
TT: Hmm.   
GA: I Dont Think It Will Do Any Harm  
GA: Like You Said Rose There Is Likely Another Level Of Encryption  
TG: dang wtf r u guys up to??  
TG: is it like  
TG: super secret spy stuff???  
GA: The Short Answer Is  
GA: Yes  
TG: ehehehe  
TG: rose i like this 1 :3  
TT: Good for you.  
TT: Anyway, here you go.  
tentacleTherapist [TT] uploaded the file “gibberish.png”  
TG: jfc i can c why u had trouble w/ this   
TG: ok thislll take a coupl mins to conbrert  
TG: *convert  
TG: in the meantime  
TG: how u guys doin?  
TG: wonk ;)  
GA: I Am Quite Well  
GA: Yesterdays Revelries Were A Lot Of Fun  
TG: hecka yeah they were!!!  
TG: i feel sick now tho  
GA: Oh  
GA: Thats Unfortunate  
TG: yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep  
TG: drnk too much   
TG: as always :(  
GA: I See  
GA: I Dont Really Partake In Soporifics  
GA: Human Troll Or Otherwise  
TG: yeh niethr does rose  
TT: That would be because I’m only sixteen.  
TT: I’m underage.  
GA: Technically In My Home City I Am Also Underage  
TT: Oh, yes. That’s right. The drinking age in Prospit is twenty-one, isn’t it?  
GA: Thats Right  
GA: There Have Been Many Mishaps In Years Past So The Laws Around Alcohol Consumption Are Quite Strict  
TG: lmao boring  
TG: not evn the queen is old enogh to drink  
TT: Never a bad thing.  
TT: Wine has laid waste to more kingdoms in history than any monarch has whilst sober. Sometimes our inhibitions may be the only things keeping us from wreck and ruin, in whatever sense is relevant to the individual.  
TG: like i sed  
TG: booooooooooorunbggggggg  
TG: gdi  
TG: *boooooooooooringggggggg  
GA: For Some It May Be The Other Way Around  
TT: This is true.  
TG: GING  
TG: (fuck)  
TG: *DING  
TG: oh wat is dat sound??  
TG: its a freshly cooked file full of decodes gibbersish!  
tipsyGnostalgic [TG] uploaded the file “notgibberishanymorebitchesssss.txt”  
TT: Thank you for the easily categorisable filename.  
TT: And thank you for the decryption, you’ve been a big help.  
TG: yw  
TG: uh  
TG: k im gon go throw up now  
TG: nice tlkin 2 u guys  
tipsyGnostalgic [TG] stopped responding to memo.  
GA: Lovely.  
TT: Sigh.  
  
tentacleTherapist [TT] closed memo.

“Your sister is as charming as always,” Kanaya noted airily.

Rose sighed. “She really did drink _far_ too much at the party.” Roxy had almost broken her ankle running full-pelt towards Rose last night. Then, when she’d practically fallen on top of Rose and Kanaya both, the most noticeable thing had been the _odeur de champagne_ emanating off her.

“Have you looked at the file, yet?” Kanaya prompted, frowning down at her device.

“I was just about to,” said Rose, bringing up the file on her circlet’s holo-screen.

notgibberishanymorebitchesssss.txt  
  
eight twenty five five fifty-six zero four fifty-six zero twenty-seven sixty-three thirty zero forty five forty-two zero fifty-four zero one zero five three five zero thirty fifteen thirty-five, zero forty-five sixty zero fifty one-hundred-and-forty-four zero fifty-five twenty one. zero twelve zero thirty fifteen thirty-five zero fifty-four zero fifty-six fifty-four zero thirty fifteen thirty-five, zero nine zero six twenty-one, zero forty-five five zero twenty-six one fifteen ninety-six zero fifty-four zero twenty forty-two nine twenty zero fourteen zero twelve thirty-five thirty-five zero sixty-three.  
  
fifty-six sixty zero three one-hundred-and-forty-four twenty zero fifty-six sixty-five four six. zero fifteen twelve twenty-seven forty-two zero twenty-six two: zero fourteen forty-eight five, zero eighty-four five one-hundred-and-seventeen seven, zero fifty-six sixty sixty-three fifty-six zero fifteen sixty-three twenty-six fifty-four twenty. zero twenty thirty thirty zero twenty-six two: zero two one-hundred-and-thirty-two, zero ninety-six forty-two twenty-five sixty thirty-six, zero four fifty-five five thirty-six zero fifteen sixty-three twenty-six fifty-four twenty.  
  
fifty-six sixty zero forty-eight sixteen forty-eight seven zero eight forty-five zero ten five zero thirty-six eighteen eighteen twenty-five twenty, zero twelve zero six zero fourteen zero twenty-four three thirty-six zero fifty-five thirty-six eighteen seven sixty-three two zero fifty-six seven zero fifty-six sixty zero eight forty-five zero ten five zero forty-eight twenty fifteen forty-two zero twelve.  
  
eleven twenty zero fifty-six fifty-four zero thirty twenty-five: zero fifty-six sixty sixty-three fifty-six zero fifty-four zero nine zero four seven twenty-five.

“It’s still gibberish, really,” said Kanaya. “Of a different sort.”

Rose hummed in agreement. “A number cipher, I suppose. And no doubt it has something to do with this grid.”

Kanaya leaned over to look at the grid. “Can we be sure that every number in the message is also on the grid? It may have something to do with these letters.” She pointed at the letters along the axes.

“You’re probably right,” said Rose. “Perhaps each number corresponds to a pair of letters—no, two pairs of letters, at least. One for each axes, possibly more depending on how many times the number occurs. Then… the letters spell out the message?”

“It’s worth a try,” shrugged Kanaya, taking her pen and a fresh piece of paper. She wrote down the first five numbers in numerical form at the top of the page, pausing when she reached ‘zero.’ “Oh… that might be a problem. There are no zeroes on the grid.”

Rose looked at the text file again, scrutinising it for some sort of pattern. “Every sentence except the first sentence begins with a zero,” she observed. “It would be logical to assume that the zeroes are spaces.”

“Possibly so,” agreed Kanaya. “We should see if our first theory is correct.” Looking closely at the grid, she copied out every possible letter pair for each of the first five numbers—for the number eight, ‘A, N’ and ‘H, U’; ‘D, Q’ and ‘B, O’, and so on.

Kanaya frowned down at what she had written. “I don’t think all these letters could fit into one word,” she said, sounding disheartened.

For about the fifth or sixth time that day, Rose was seized with a _knowing_ that wasn’t entirely her own, and before she really knew what she was doing, she grabbed her pen and began circling letters.

**  
**

“Only one pair of pairs is relevant per number,” she said. “And only one letter per axis.”

“You really are ‘on a roll,’ today, as you humans might say,” said Kanaya, smiling. “What does it spell?”

Below the number pairs, Rose wrote out the word:

Kanaya gasped.

“Underneath,” Rose read. “That was one of your keywords, was it not?”

“The only keyword,” Kanaya confirmed. “We’re getting somewhere!”

“We are indeed,” Rose agreed, smiling back. “Keep writing out those letter pairs, I’ll see if I can figure it out as you go.”

 

Within less than an hour, they had reached the fourth and final level: they had completely decoded the message. It was a little awkwardly worded, with only basic punctuation and a few words that ran into each other (likely because the method of encoding that had been used wasn’t particularly forgiving of words with an odd number of letters). It was still readable, though.

“I think…” said Rose. “I think whoever wrote this message _knew_ that _I_ would be the one to read it.”

“Perhaps you’re the only one who could have decoded it,” suggested Kanaya. “Considering we wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without your Sight.”

Rose read over the message again. “It doesn’t say what these ‘moons’ actually _are_ , though.”

“No… it doesn’t, but they _must_ be related to The Paradox in some way. ‘Underneath both cities’ hearts…’ it fits with what we already know, at least.”

“It certainly does.” Something occurred to Rose. “Hold on… This temple has often been referred to as Derse’s heart, or something similar, especially in poetry. Do you think that means…?”

Kanaya looked up at Rose, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly. “That we could find out right now what these moons are? Maybe so.”

They both sprang into action, shuffling all the papers they’d used into a haphazard pile and sticking them in the front cover of the little book. Then they made their way towards the archive’s exit.

“We should talk to an apostle,” Rose was saying as they walked, “preferably one who’s been here for a while and is more likely to know the ins and outs of the temple.”

“Where do we find such a one?”

“In my experience, they tend to show up right when you need them.”

True to Rose’s word, as soon as they left they archives they practically bowled over the temple’s head apostle—Meulin Leijon, Mage of Heart.

“Sorry!” Rose and Kanaya exclaimed in almost exact unison.

Meulin giggled. “That’s okay!” she practically shouted. It wasn’t her fault she spoke so loud—in fact, it was impressive that she was able to speak so clearly, despite being deaf. “Do mew need help with anything?”

Rose and Kanaya looked at each other. Rose nodded, Kanaya nodded in reply, and when Rose turned back to Meulin, she spoke. “Actually, yes. We were wondering if you know anything about what’s underneath the temple?”

Meulin cocked her head in a fittingly catlike gesture. She hummed thoughtfully, sounding more like she was purring. “ _Under_ the temprowl?” she asked.

Rose nodded.

She hummed again. “Nope! Not really, not anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“Well, years and years and _years_ ago there used to be a tunnel that led way underground—like, _supurr_ deep. There’s no record of what it actually led to, though. All that’s known is that they were there, once, and that meow they’re all caved in because of some accident.” She shrugged apologetically. “So, anything that was there isn’t there anymore!”

Rose felt herself deflate. “There’s _really_ no way to check if what was there might have… survived, maybe, so to speak?”

“Well… no. The entrance was walled off long befur I became an apostle. I don’t even know where it might be!” She frowned. “Sorry, guys, you look really sad about it!”

Well. Rose supposed she did feel a little disheartened, and, exchanging a glance with Kanaya, she looked a little put-off, too. “It’s alright. Thank you, anyway, Meulin.”

“My purrleasure, meow!” said Meulin, instantly cheerful again. “Furwell!”

Rose and Kanaya stepped to either side of the hallway to let her pass.

“Well, that was fruitless,” said Kanaya.

“Not entirely. She more or less confirmed that there is—or, at least, _once was_ something beneath the temple. The message implied that these ‘moons’ possess great power, so the incident that caused the cave-in could very well have had something to do with it.”

Kanaya nodded. “That is true. The question, however, is what do we do now?”

Rose thought about it. She’d _been_ thinking about it, in the back of her mind, ever since they’d decoded the message—all week, in fact; ever since she first learned of The Paradox.

“There’s nothing else we can do,” she said. “At least, not in Derse. Remember when I mentioned I might be coming with you back to Prospit?”

“I recall.”

“Well. I think I’ve decided for sure.”

She was going to Prospit.

Something felt off about the decision, something she couldn’t quite place—but she was certain that the only way they were going to find out more about these moons—about The Paradox—was in Prospit. The message had said _“the Light is in danger,”_ after referring to Prospit’s moon as _“the Light epitomised.”_ It had as good as told her that she needed to go to Prospit.

Perhaps she was just nervous about leaving her family behind—Dave in particular. Lately she was constantly torn between guilt at not being there for him enough, and the knowledge that he didn’t need her so much anymore. But… sometimes _she_ needed _him_. Not that she ever liked to admit it. It was good to be back with Roxy and Dirk, for sure, but Rose didn’t technically have her memories back. She knew only what the Light deemed it necessary for her to know. As far as she could figure, the Witch of Time, when she had taken their memories, had severed them from their personal timelines, effectively erasing their memories. Last week, she had actively reconnected the two pieces of Dave’s timeline, restoring his memories. Rose’s timeline, however, was still in two pieces—and likely always would be. She’d always known she would never truly recover those memories, and accepted it; saw it as a small price to pay for what she gained as a Seer of Light.

As they walked through the chilly afternoon back towards the Palace, Rose wondered how to tell her siblings what she had decided. She supposed it could wait until tomorrow. For the moment, she had planning to do—and packing.

tentacleTherapist [TT] opened memo on board STRILONDESFTWWWW.  
  
TT: Brothers, Sister. If you’re all available I have something I believe I should inform you about, and, dubiously risible board name notwithstanding, figured this would be the best place to do it.  
TT: It’s easier than trying to herd our collective posteriors into a single place for only a short amount of time.  
turntechGodhead [TG] responded to memo.  
TG: i mean like  
TG: were all in the same place at dinner  
TG: usually  
TT: That is true, Dave. However, I seem to recall that the last time I tried to bring up a semi-serious topic of conversation at dinner, you scolded me for making you think about things while you were trying to eat.  
TG: well  
TG: yeah  
TG: that did happen  
TG: are you gonna make me think about things now  
TT: Only if you choose to think about them. Your agency is entirely your own, brother. Whether or not you choose to think about what I’m about to tell you is exclusively up to you.  
TG: aight  
TG: i preemptively choose not to think about it then  
TT: Are you busy?  
TG: nah  
TG: not like its a fucking monday morning or anything  
TG: aka a time when pretty much everyone is busy with something or other  
tipsyGnostalgic [TG] responded to memo.  
TG: im not busy w/ sumthin or other  
TG: im jus sittin here  
TG: basking in wat is prolly the last sunshine were gonna see for the rest of the fukin year :(  
TG: holy shit are you actually sober right now  
TG: its a fukign mondey morning dave  
TG: aka a time when pretty much evryone is busy wit somethin or other  
TG: no tiem 2 b drunk!!!  
TG: wow  
TG: turning my words against me  
TG: how dare  
TG: ;#  
TG: shit  
TG: *;3  
TT: You’ve finally recovered from Saturday night, then?  
TG: :/  
TG: yeeeeep  
TG: n thats p much all there is to say on the matter  
TG: anyway wats this thing you wanna tell us??  
TG: yeah rose spit it the fuck out we got shit to do  
TG: right rox  
TG: yeah!!  
TG: well  
TG: no not rly  
TG: roxy no come on youre ruining it  
TG: its why im here dave  
TG: to rek ur shit :3  
TG: in a nice way tho bc i <3 u  
TG: wow what is this stockholm syndrome bullshit  
TG: my shit is so fucking wrecked  
TG: and yet  
TG: these feelings of fraternal loyalty  
TG: from whence do they come???  
TT: It would be easier to tell you what I’m trying to tell you if the two of you would cease the semi-ironic back and forth.  
TT: As amusing as it is to read.  
TT: Amusing in the way that beholding a child’s drawing is charming, but not because there is any true artistry in the picture.  
TG: alright well fuck you too  
TT: And anyway, I’d like to know that Dirk is in attendance before I begin.  
timaeusTestified [TT] responded to memo.  
TT: I’m here.  
TT: I’m following the conversation, don’t worry. I’m just busy doing some preliminary paperwork in preparation for the legislative changes that will need to be implemented as soon as Jane signs the truce and the documents are officiated.  
TG: jfc always u with the multitaksing  
TG: *multitasking  
TG: i dont even need to be fukn drunk to make typos what is my life  
TT: A mess?  
TG: >:O uM rude????  
TG: holy shit we cannot stop flinging insults at each other today  
TG: ok hey guys how about this  
TG: before we let rose write us an inscrutably worded essay about whatever she wants to tell us  
TG: lets smooth things over by actually like  
TG: saying nice things  
TT: This is rather unexpected coming from you, Dave. Perhaps hanging around a hero of Blood is starting to rub off on you already?  
TG: man the only fucking way he could be rubbing off on me is by increasing the ratio of the word fuck to every other word  
TG: like wow fuck that guy says fuck a lot  
TT: So do you.  
TG: see youre right he is rubbing off on me  
TG: hehehe...  
TG: dave plz  
TG: plz be careful about using the phrase   
TG: rubbing off on  
TG: because holy shit  
TG: what  
TT: Yeah. If someone else didn’t say something, I would have.  
TG: ok never mind fuck that shitty idea i just had and also fuck you all  
TT: I think it’s a good idea, Dave.  
TT: It’s actually a good way to preface my announcement, which I promise to not make so “inscrutably worded,” as you say.  
TG: well you can go first then  
TT: I was about to suggest that I do.  
TT: In return, I’ll start with you, Dave:  
TT: I’m proud of how far you’ve come in the past week. Last Monday you were embroiled in a slow-simmering stew of your own fear and self-pity, and while I certainly don’t blame you for it (anymore), I’m happy that you managed to pull yourself out of it, accept what you are, and put yourself well on the path to becoming — I’m sure — a skilled Knight of Time.  
TG: awww :’)  
TG: i mean  
TG: i wouldnt say ive completely accepted it yet  
TG: but  
TG: thanks  
TT: Of course.  
TT: Roxy, you next.  
TG: !!  
TG: yisssss  
TT: I don’t have my memories back in the same way that Dave does, so I don’t so much remember you being my older sister twelve plus years ago as much as I know it happened. Regardless, I’m incredibly thankful for you having treated me as if I’d never left. It helped me feel at home.  
TG: omfg im gonna cry  
TG: rossiieeee youre welcomeee <3<3<3  
TG: where u at gurl i need to come tacklehug you like RIGHT NOW  
TT: I’ll tell you soon.  
TG: aw come on  
TT: And, last but not least, Dirk:  
TT: In three short weeks I feel I’ve learned so much from you. You’ve handled the stress of your position impeccably — at least outwardly — and I’m confident that you’ll be the reigning monarch that Derse needs.  
TG: this is too much i litraly cant rn   
TT: Thank you, Rose. That’s very sweet of you to say.  
TT: I can’t help but feel like these admissions of pride, gratitude, and respect have an uncomfortable finality to them. Or at least an air of departure.  
TG: actually yeah youre right  
TG: what the fuck  
TT: Hmm. Perhaps I should have gone last.  
TT: This seems too good a segue to pass up, so I’m afraid I’ll have to interrupt our game to insert my announcement:  
TT: When the Prospitian envoy leaves tomorrow, I’m going with them.  
TG: :o  
TT: I figured you might say something along those lines.  
TG: what  
TG: the fuck  
TG: ok since fucking when did you decide this?  
TT: It’s something I’ve been considering for the better part of a week now.  
TG: and you didnt think to fucking SHARE these thoughts maybe??  
TT: Like I said, Dave: it’s something I’ve been _considering_. I didn’t decide for sure until yesterday.  
TG: fucking same difference  
TG: if you were considering it why didnt you mention it at fucking all  
TT: I think Karkat really is rubbing off on you.  
TT: Your past five sentences have all contained the word “fuck.”  
TG: ok even for you that was a shitty attempt at changing the subject  
TG: ^ btw look rose no fucks in that sentence you can ctrl-f that shit  
TT: I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself, it wasn’t very tasteful of me given the situation.  
TG: yeah no shit  
TT: I’m quite curious as to why you’re so upset. Are you worried that I haven’t given this enough thought?  
TG: ugh idfk   
TG: maybe??  
TT: If so, you should consider who you’re talking to, Dave.  
TT: If there’s anyone I would trust to make a reasonable decision, it’s a Seer of Light.  
TT: Thank you, Dirk.  
TT: Don’t mention it.  
TG: ok well then i guess its not fucking that  
TG: maybe its like  
TG: oh idk  
TG: the fact that theyre leaving TOMORROW and you only thought to tell us about this NOW?  
TG: some more heads up would have been pretty fucking welcome  
TT: Admittedly, yes. In hindsight that would have been preferable.  
TT: However, as I said, I only decided this with any finality just yesterday. For most of last week, I, much like yourself and everyone else in the palace, was quite busy. It slipped my mind to mention it, and I apologise for that.  
TG: well  
TG: can you at least tell me why you wanna go all the way to fucking prospit?  
TG: and by me i mean us  
TT: The ‘us’ was implicit.  
TG: yeah  
TT: There’s something in particular that I feel I need to investigate. I’ve been sworn to secrecy on its details, so you must believe me when I assure you that it is potentially of great import to the kingdoms of Derse and Prospit both, and may very likely even have some bearing on the war.  
TG: great  
TG: so basically  
TG: more obfuscated light-y bullshit  
TG: that you cant even fucking explain  
TG: great  
TG: this is  
TG: just  
TG: great  
TT: “Obfuscated Light” is a paradox. No less than I would expect from a budding hero of Time.  
TT: But, yes, if that’s how you want to look at it. I am sorry I can’t say more — how many times must I apologise before you accept my decision?  
TG: well its not like i have any choice but to fucking accept it   
TG: youre just gonna go anyway  
TT: Rose, I think Dave’s misgivings are less about the decision itself and more about the eventualities of said decision.  
TT: Hmm.  
TG: ugh  
TT: Is this true, Dave?  
TG: can we  
TG: can we not do this now  
TG: this thing where we turn dave being upset about something into all daves own fucking fault  
TT: That isn’t what’s happening, Dave.  
TT: Okay, let me hazard a guess:  
TT: You’re upset at the idea of me leaving because never in our lives have we ever had more than a few hundred metres between us.  
TT: I understand.  
TT: If you think I don’t have my misgivings about leaving you behind, you’re wrong; I hate the idea. But this is something I have to do, and you have to stay here so you can master your Time powers — this much is imperative.  
TT: Wars drive people apart, Dave. But distance will be the only thing separating us, okay? We still have pesterchum.  
TT: We will always have pesterchum.  
TG: well i already said i dont want to do this right now  
TG: but fine  
TG: sure  
TG: thats exactly it  
TG: just  
TG: let me go through the stages of fucking grief or however you wanna diagnose it  
TT: No one is trying to diagnose you.  
TG: maybe thats the problem  
TT: Timely subject change: Roxy’s been quiet.  
TG: yeah the fucks up with that  
TG: (thanks bro)  
TT: (You know _I’m_ not fucking going anywhere, even if I wanted to.)  
TG: (yeah...)  
TT: You can’t whisper in a memo, boys.   
TT: Roxy? Are you still here?  
TG: .....yep  
TG: idk ive just been thinkin about some stuff  
TG: dave i think your reaction is rlly sweet + sad and also totes justified and i feel for you bro i do  
TG: but um  
TG: im sure u guys have noticed bc ur not fuckin blind  
TG: but like  
TG: the thing  
TG: with me  
TG: and the drinking  
TG: its gotten pretty out of hand :(  
TG: and i think somethin that really doesnt help is that its just soooooo easy for me to get my paws on da booze around here  
TG: but   
TG: the drinking age in prospit is 21  
TG: and i hear theyre p strict about it  
TG: so  
TG: i think i might go with rose and the prospitians tomorrow  
TT: I’ll be more than happy to have you with me, Roxy.  
TG: <3  
TT: Rox.  
TG: ys?  
TT: I’m proud of you.  
TT: It’ll be really fuckin’ quiet without you around, but I’m happy that you’re taking a move to solve a problem.  
TT: I think it’s a good idea.  
TG: awwwwwwwwwwwwwww dirrrrrkkkkkk  
TG: fuck man im gonna miss u so much   
TG: thank you for saying such nice thingys :3  
TG: yeah  
TG: nice one rox  
TG: much pride etc etc  
TG: aw cmon dave that was a little subdued!  
TG: sorry guess im just feeling emotionally fucking drained already  
TG: hope you guys dont mind if I duck out now so i still have something left to work with tomorrow when i actually have to fucking say goodbye  
turntechGodhead [TG] stopped responding to memo.  
TG: i kinda do mind :(  
TG: dave no come baaack  
TT: Let him go. It’s exactly like he said, actually: best to let him go through the stages of grief.  
TT: Maybe you should talk to him.  
TT: Or,  
TT: Fuck, maybe I should.  
TT: Maybe.  
TT: I think for now we should leave him be.  
TG: welp  
TG: ur the authoritay on all things dave  
TT: I wonder if, by the time I return to Derse, that will still be true?  
TT: Why wouldn’t it be?  
TT: I don’t know. I was merely ruminating.  
TT: Hmm.  
TG: hmmm  
TT: Hmmmm?  
TT: Well, anyway. Thank you both for telling us. I should get back to this paperwork.  
TG: multitaskin not workin out 4 ya?  
TT: Not for the moment, no.  
TT: I think I’ll close the memo, then.  
TT: Roxy, if you still want to find me, I’ll meet you in the Dusk Hall for some coffee and bagels?  
TG: YESssssss abslutely  
TT: I’ll see you in five, then. Dirk... I assume I’ll see you at dinner, if not before then.  
TT: Probably.  
TT: All sorted, then.  
TT: Thank you for your time, both of you.  
  
tentacleTherapist [TT] closed memo.

TT: And thank you for the decryption, you’ve been a big help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really debated with myself as to whether or not to include the code stuff at all, but, firstly, I didn't want the message to just be _there_ , because that would be far too easy. Pretty sure there are universal storytelling rules against characters discovering information with too much ease. Secondly, I spent so much god damn time on it--like, all in all, probably... close to eight hours or something? Probably more?? I literally made four custom fonts (for the pigpen, for Rose and Kanaya's handwriting, and the grid) for those images, even if they were barely used.
> 
> If you're interested, you can see each level of encryption in its entirety [here](http://pastebin.com/EtMX0AbZ).
> 
> Realistically, you could decrypt the whole thing without the aid of parapsychological abilities, but it would probably take a lot longer than it took Rose and Kanaya. That being said, cryptography is only a recent interest of mine and as such I'm not at the level of coming up with my own complex methods of encryption. As was mentioned in the chapter, pigpen is very simple and very common and ROT-13 is the most basic substitution cipher. Then there's the number cipher. Completely stolen from one of the puzzles in the _Mr. Robot_ companion book, _Red Wheelbarrow_. Just because I thought it was a hella cool way to encrypt messages, though it does have its limitations.
> 
> Can you tell I'm still really iffy about it? I love experimenting in my writing, but some experiments are safer than others. This one is pretty out there, imo, so... I'd really super appreciate feedback on it? Like, if you don't think it worked, please tell me. There's no way to know if an experiment like this has worked or not unless you guys let me know what you think.
> 
> **TL;DR** \- Considering the experimental nature of this chapter, please let me know what you thought of it!
> 
> In other news, just one more chapter until the end of the truce arc!!


	32. On The Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Roxy couldn’t really say why she had so many different kinds of liquor. Possibly just because most of it actually tasted like ass, and she liked a little bit of variety. If she was going to get shitfaced, why not have fun doing it? Not that she was going to be doing that anymore. That was the whole point of this thing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to put a content warning for reference to alcohol withdrawal/alcoholism? I'm no good at this stuff. pls help

**i.**

Roxy opened the door.

“I hope you’re aware, I have a shit-ton of things to get done today,” said Dirk, standing in the hallway waiting for her to let him in.

Roxy rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, as if you can’t take ten fuckin’ minutes out of your _super busy day_ to help your sis enact her clichéd symbolic/ritualistic cleansing ceremony before she fucks off to the opposite side of the continent.”

Dirk frowned. “You make a point,” he said. “Not necessarily a _good_ point, but a point.”

“Shut up.” Roxy stepped away from the door to let him in. “So, here’s the loot” she gestured to the liquor bottles she’d arranged on the floor—some large, some small; some glass, some plastic; some transparent, some opaque; all full of some form of liquor or the other, lined up like soldiers in a marching drill. Roxy couldn’t really say why she had so many different kinds of liquor. Possibly just because most of it actually tasted like ass, and she liked a little bit of variety. If she was going to get shitfaced, why not have fun doing it? Not that she was going to be doing that anymore. That was the whole point of this thing.

She sighed. “Guess we should start pourin’ ‘em out.”

Dirk put a hand on her shoulder. “Feeling okay?”

Not really, no. She was pretty seriously jonesing for a swig, and despite not having had any alcohol since Saturday night, her head was fucking _killing_ her. “Well, I basically feel like shit,” she admitted. She’d barely been able to sleep last night, mainly just from restlessness and twitchy, aching legs. The knowledge that the only elixir which could truly _end_ that suffering was stored in several fancy bottles strewn throughout her quarters—under her bed, in her nightstands, in her dressers, in her fucking bathroom cabinet, for fuck’s sake—only made it worse. She’d resisted, at least, and managed to get _some_ modicum of rest, but as soon as she’d noticed the weakest glow of daylight behind her curtains, she’d leapt into action. She’d practically torn her quarters apart looking for every bottle, flask, and phial that might contain the _deadly liquid_ she was henceforth banned from partaking in.

Oh, yeah, and she’d also finished packing for Prospit. That was kind of a whole thing, too, since they were leaving later that day. Originally they were supposed to leave in the morning, but the envoy’s bus had somehow acquired a flat tyre, delaying their departure until noon.

"It'll only get better,” Dirk assured her.

“Pretty sure it’s destined to get _worse_ before it gets better,” she reminded him. Oh, boy; sure was gonna be fun being stuck on a bus for nine hours!

“My statement still holds true.”

She rolled her eyes again. For possibly the first time in her _life_ , she wasn’t really in the mood for the sick bantz. “This is supposed to be a sombre occasion, Dirk,” she reminded him. “Funereal as fuck; R.I.P. alcoholism.”

“Who the fuck mourns alcoholism?”

“I don’t know, but I’m definitely mourning the version of my head that doesn’t feel fucking terrible. Let’s just get this show on the road before I have to _literally_ get on the road.”

Dirk shrugged, and one by one they took the bottles from the floor and poured them out—down the sink, into the toilet (was that okay to do?), down the shower drain (that probably definitely wasn’t okay to do), and even out the window… just once, and then Dirk told her not to do that and so she didn’t do it again, like the good, sober princess she was newly committed to being.

Before long, the rows of full, half-full, and half-empty bottles on the floor was reduced to a haphazard pile of empty bottles. Ironically enough, it almost looked like the aftermath of one hell of a rager.

Roxy drew in a long breath and let it out with an audible _whoosh_. “Think I have time to get some coffee before I have to leave?”

Dirk looked at her, long and hard, then smiled. “Plenty.”

 

**ii.**

Somehow, in the past few days, the gardens had been _the_ place where John, Dave, and Karkat would usually hang out. Except when it rained—then they would hang out in Dave’s quarters, where he and Karkat often had lessons with that strange Aradia lady. John had listened in once and not understood a word, but he supposed it was pretty cool how Dave was now able to age fruit; make it go from ripe to rotten in the blink of an eye. Not that being able to rot fruit was a very useful power. Like, in any circumstances whatsoever.

Tuesday morning, just hours before John and the other Prospitians (and also Rose and Roxy, for some reason) would be making tracks towards Prospit, was blessedly sunny. Dave grumbled about the bright light, and Karkat complained about how horrible it felt on his skin, but they both agreed to go for one last walk with John around Derse’s royal gardens.

“It’s so weird thinking about going home,” John was saying. “It’s only been two weeks, but it feels like it’s been so much longer. Must be even weirder for you, though, huh, Karkat?”

Karkat mumbled something incoherent, glaring down at a spray of sneezeweed.

“It’s really not that big a deal, man,” Dave said to him.

“Huh?” said John.

Karkat looked up at John, and sighed. “I’m not going back to Prospit.”

John blinked. “What? Why not?”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “I should think it’s pretty fucking obvious, John. If me and Shades la Fuckface over here are supposed to be some sort of Knightly team or whatever, me fucking off to Prospit is kind of counterintuitive to that notion.”

“Oh… yeah. I guess that’s true. Well, why can’t you both come to Prospit?” It would be cool to be able to show his best bro around his hometown, for sure.

Dave shrugged. “I have to be here because Aradia’s here, since she’s pretty much the only one who can help me with the Time bullshit, which is… pretty fuckin’ important. And…” he sighed, “even if all that wasn’t a thing, which it is, with Rose and Roxy both fucking off to Prospit, I sorta feel obligated to stay here and keep Dirk company, since, y’know, _he_ definitely can’t leave. Like, ever.”

That was… actually kind of sad, the idea of being stuck in one place your whole life. John was looking forward to going home, sure, but for the most part he’d really enjoyed his time in Derse—mostly just for the fact that it was something new and exciting. Expanding his horizons was always cool—and it was cool finally meeting Dave and Rose, too, even if their true identities came as a bit of a surprise.

“Damn. You guys are kinda making me feel like _I_ should stay, too.”

“Don’t be a dumbass, John, there is literally no reason for you to be stuck here,” said Dave. “Also, it’d be a _major_ dick move of you to not bring Jade the souvenirs you promised her.”

That was true. “I guess.”

The conversation died a peaceful death. Karkat was nudging a stone back and forth with his toe, and Dave stood with his hands deep in his pockets, staring out at the unmoving horizon. John glanced back towards the palace. They’d come a fair distance—far enough that someone could come out onto the loggia and yell to them and they probably wouldn’t be able to hear. The flat ground between the palace and where they stood was a sea of colour—mostly green. Grasses and leaves which thrived on Derse’s seasonal alternating rain/shine weather patterns, smattered with the occasional bursts of oranges, pinks, reds, yellows, purples; autumn flowers, taking in as much sunlight as they could before the snow began to fall.

A cold breeze combed through John’s already unruly hair, heading inland off the ocean. The wind, it seemed, was headed for Prospit.

“How do you guys know each other, anyway?” Dave asked suddenly.

John blinked. Karkat looked up. They looked at each other. John shrugged. “School.”

Dave scoffed. “Seriously? Boring.”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “What did you expect, some sort of fucking peril-wrought origin story wherein one of us saved the other’s life or something?”

“Nah, just something a little less boring than ‘school.’ Didn’t even know they _had_ integrated schools in Prospit.”

“Don’t they have them here?” John asked, genuinely taken aback.

Dave thought about it for a moment. “I… actually have no idea. Maybe? Never been to school, wouldn’t have a clue.”

“You’ve never been to _school_?”

“That explains a lot,” shot Karkat.

“I’m too cool for school,” Dave rejoined. He shrugged. “I mean, Rose always got fancy private lessons and I guess I got them second-hand from her harping on at me twenty-four/seven…” he trailed off, then sighed. “I think I’m getting a tutor in the new year, though. So. That should be interesting.”

“At least you won’t be alone,” said John, smiling, and looking towards Karkat.

“Oh, god damn it,” muttered Karkat. “I escape the classroom idiocy of one insufferable human asshole, only to find myself saddled with _another_ a few sweeps later. God. Fucking. Damn it.”

“You’re definitely not as angry about it as you’re pretending to be,” said Dave. “Come on, man, don’t be such a drama troll.”

Karkat promptly showed Dave his middle finger. Man, Karkat was so hilariously angry all the time. John sure was gonna miss being able to pester him whenever he wanted. Well, he could still _pester_ him, but not in the face-to-face sense.

“Okay, here’s something I don’t get, though,” Dave began.

“Here we go,” said John, preparing to roll his eyes

“Why do you trolls still insist on using ‘sweeps’ as a measurement of time? Like, seriously, it has no tangible relation to this planet. Now, years? Years make sense; that’s one lap around the sun, motherfucker. And sure, that was the same with whatever rock trolls _used_ to live on, but there’s literally no way to even compare the two—you just say it’s two years so you can maintain the illusion that your species is somehow so much better than us, because, hey, your old supernova’d sun was at _least_ twice as big as ours, or something to that effect. Wasn’t your old sun also, like, super fucking deadly? Why would you even want to—”

“Holy shit, Dave, shut _up_ already,” Karkat interrupted.

Dave smirked. “I’m just saying, man—”

“You are _not_ ‘just saying,’ you’re fucking monologuing it up over there while me and John have to—”

“John doesn’t give a shit, do you John? John loves my monologues—”

“Well _I_ certainly give a shit! I give so many fucking shits you wouldn’t _believe_ the magnitude of this—”

“Dude, calm the fuck down, it’s not a big deal—”

“Wow, _both_ of you shut the fuck up!” John laughed. “I can see this teamwork thing is already working out perfectly.”

Dave winked. Karkat heaved a sigh.

Something occurred to John. “Hold on a sec… Karkat.”

“What?”

“If Dave has to stay here so he can be near someone to help him with Time stuff, then what about you with your Blood stuff?”

“What _about_ me with my Blood stuff? It’s a completely fucking different sack of grub nuts,” said Karkat.

“Grub nuts?” said Dave incredulously. “Pretty sure that’s not a thing.”

“First of all, if I fuck up it won’t result in death of any form,” said Karkat, ignoring Dave. “Second of all, I’m just not gonna fuck up—that’s it, end of story, no big fucking deal. Finally, if I need ‘ _help with the Blood stuff’_ and the world is fucking ending and there’s no one else to turn to, I can always just ask Kankri to dump one of his infamous soliloquys in a Trollian window and hope the timeframe of whatever Armageddon is befalling us is generous enough to allow me a day to comb through it for something that might actually fucking help.”

“In short: Karkat’s got it easy with the aspect stuff compared to yours truly,” added Dave.

To John’s surprise, Karkat made no move to argue against that.

“Huh,” said John, nonplussed. “Well, I… guess you guys have got it all sorted out, huh?”

“Not really,” said Dave. “But yes.”

“Um. Okay.” John shook his head. “Well, anyway… I need to finish packing.”

“A’ight,” said Dave. “I should probably go find Rose.”

As they started walking back towards the loggia, John slung an arm around Dave’s bony shoulders. “It’ll be okay, Dave. I was nervous about being away from Jade for the first time, and everything turned out great!” Although, maybe it was a bit different from the perspective of the person who was doing/had done the leaving, rather than the staying behind.

“Yeah,” sighed Dave. “I know. Just lemme be a pissbaby about it some more, then I’ll feel better.”

John heard Karkat scoff behind him, and laughed. “Yeah, alright.”

 

**iii.**

Rose had just finished triple-checking that she had everything she needed when her door opened, and, unannounced, Dave waltzed in and deposited himself at the end of her bed.

“I believe you might have the wrong room,” she said pleasantly.

“Pretty sure I don’t,” he replied, stretching the words around a yawn. “Unless this _isn’t_ your room, in which case, why the fuck are you here? And how the fuck did _I_ know where to find you?”

Rose held an inquisitive finger up to her chin. “These mysteries—will they ever be solved? Do they _need_ to be solved? Are they at an appropriate level of mystique to even warrant investigation?”

“A mystery wouldn’t be a mystery if it didn’t need solving, and a mystery only needs solving so long as you know it’s a mystery and give enough of a shit to actually go to all the trouble to solve it,” replied Dave.

“Perhaps the true mystery is in whether or not the mystery is, indeed, a mystery, or if it is simply an enigma with an unassuming if not so easily accessible explanation.”

“Well, this particular mystery-slash-enigma would be the most mysterious-slash-enigmatic of all mysteries-slash-enigmas if it turned out that it were even a fucking mystery-slash-enigma in the first place,” said Dave. “Which I’m pretty sure it isn’t, because I’m pretty sure this _is_ your room, so this whole back and forth has really just been a waste of fucking time. And I would know, being the Knight of Time. I know my shit when it comes to Time—so I know when time is being wasted, like it is right now.”

“And it’s certainly not being given any higher purpose by your cyclical oration as to the nature of this time being, indeed, wasted.”

“Exactly. So let’s stop this.”

“Very well.” Rose smiled, and sat atop her suitcase, folding her arms and crossing her legs at the ankles. “How may I help you?”

Dave sighed, deflating a little. “So, I might have overreacted a little yesterday.”

“Only a little?”

“Yeah. The tiniest fucking bit. But anyway, I went away, had a shower, thought about it a bit, ate, thought about it some more, tried to sleep, couldn’t, did some more thinking, slept on it, did some _more_ thinking, had another shower, hung out with John and Karkat, and then decided I was ready to come talk to you.” He paused—for breath, it would seem. “Partially since, you know, this might be my last chance to actually talk to you in person for a while.”

“And what might the culmination of all this thinking be?”

Dave ran a hand through his hair. Rose couldn’t help but notice that he was on the verge of needing a haircut. “That I might have overreacted a little.”

“I thought we’d already established that.”

“Yeah, well, we’re going in reverse order today: answer first, process second. No, but really, it was… selfish. Of me. To have… reacted the way I reacted.”

Rose frowned. “It was understandable, given the circumstances. I think it’s fair to say that neither of us handled the situation very well. That is to say, if _you_ were being selfish, so was I.”

“Well, yeah, I thought we already established _that_ , too,” Dave said, the beginning of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Then we’re on even ground once more,” said Rose, rolling her eyes. “Why do we keep finding ourselves in these situations lately?” she wondered.

“What situations?”

“I feel like most of our interactions recently have all involved a two-way apology of some sort,” she said, “and I feel it’s mostly my own fault.”

Dave pursed his lips. “No comment.”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I really do think some time apart will be good for the both of us.”

The room fell silent for a moment as Dave considered his answer. “Probably. I don’t know. I miss when we actually used to tell each other shit.”

There it was, really: the crux of all the issues they’d had between them recently. It wasn’t as if there hadn’t always been things that Rose had… _withheld_ from Dave, it’s just that they were more numerous and self-evident than they had ever previously been, being that they had moved from the background to the foreground of their lives. “There really are some things I can’t tell you,” Rose said apologetically.

“Such as; this thing you’re going to Prospit for.”

“Yes.”

“And it has… nothing to do with your new friend?”

The opportunity to spend more time working alongside Kanaya had certainly made the decision a little easier, but Dave didn’t need to know that just yet. “Is this a conciliatory exchange or a gossip session?”

“So, basically, yes.” He smirked triumphantly.

There was really no winning with him sometimes. “If I say yes, will you drop it?”

Dave’s smirk widened. “For now,” he said, in a way that reminded Rose eerily of herself.

Rose sighed, and stood, ignoring the nagging feeling that had been festering in the pit of her stomach in favour of unzipping a smaller bag and extracting her latest knitting project—she’d finally finished it last night, after many distractions since she had started it. “I wanted to give you this,” she said, crossing over to Dave and sitting beside him on the bed. “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you before the farewell at the gates, but I think it’s better if I give it to you now.”

She folded the scarf in half and looped it around his neck, pulling the ends through the fold. She’d used up the last of her red yarn making this—the softest, costliest yarn she’d ever worked with. Royal status meant a royal budget, which meant she could get the highest-quality reagents to keep her favourite hobby afloat. She’d tried a new cable rib pattern—which, considering the texture of the wool, had been a little bit of a challenge, but it was ultimately rewarding, and she was pleased with the result.

“It suits you,” she said, sitting back and examining her handiwork.

Dave lifted a hand to the scarf, rubbing it between his thumb and fingers to feel the texture. “It’s my colour,” he said quietly. He looked at her. “Thanks, Rose.”

“Anytime.” She smiled. “I can send you a matching hat and pair of gloves, if you’d like.”

He made a face. “Uh, pass.” He looked at the neat pile of luggage in the centre of the room. “Need help getting all this down fifteen flights of stairs?”

“I’d certainly appreciate it.”

 

Even as she watched her luggage being loaded onto Prospit’s bus twenty minutes later, that nagging feeling wouldn’t leave her alone. It was just nerves, she told herself. A perfectly normal reaction.

 

**iv.**

Dirk pressed the seal on the top of the manila envelope closed before handing it to Jake. “That’s everything you’ll need.”

Jake took the envelope, frowning down at it as if it were vaguely repulsive; a piece of bread with a patch of mould on it. “It’s certainly a lot of paperwork.”

“A lot of good trees lost their lives for our cause, Jake,” said Dirk. “Show some fuckin’ respect.”

“Oh, of course,” Jake chuckled. “Rest in peace, trees, may you ever live on in the most lavish of royal filing cabinets.

Dirk nodded. “That’s better. Anyway, is everything sorted?”

Jake tucked the envelope under his arm. “Erm, yes, I think so. I’ve received word from the driver that the tyre has been repaired, and we should be leaving within the hour so long as everyone’s ready.”

“ _Are_ you ready?” Dirk asked.

“Not in the slightest,” Jake sighed, shooting Dirk a diffident look over the rim of his glasses. “Not mentally, at least.”

Yeah, Dirk understood that feeling with uncomfortable exactness.

“I’ve already delivered my luggage to the entrance hall, as directed,” Jake continued. “I suppose all that’s left is to deliver myself.”

“And wait for everyone else to do the same,” Dirk added. He stood up from his desk, looking out towards the balcony. “It’s… gonna be really fucking quiet around here. Once you’ve all left.”

Jake was silent for a moment. “I’m sure you’ll be kept busy,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Dirk scoffed, “I’m sure I will.” He sighed. “I’m sure it won’t be too different from how it was before. Except now I’m a little more than Regent and there’s a truce to be maintained, a war to be won, and…” he glanced at Jake, who wasn’t looking at him, “I need to find out what happened to the King.”

_That_ certainly got Jake to look at him, eyes wide. “Why?”

“The sooner we know, the better,” Dirk said. “One more thing that can be put to rest for good.”

“But… then _you_ might become King.”

“I’m practically King already, with a few caveats,” Dirk pointed out.

“Good fucking grief. This visit… it really has changed things, hasn’t it?”

“Irrevocably,” agreed Dirk with a sigh, “for better or worse. We’ll see.”

“For better or worse,” repeated Jake. “Dirk, look, I’m not—I don’t—well, after our talk on Saturday I’m… not really sure I _want_ to go back to Prospit.”

And there it was. The very thing Dirk had been hoping Jake wouldn’t say. _“Then don’t,”_ he wanted to reply. _“Stay here. With me. Please.”_

“You have to,” he said instead.

“If I’m not going to be King anymore—”

“You’re still a Prince,” Dirk reminded him. “Still the leader of the delegation. And still the Queen’s betrothed.” Words didn’t even _begin_ to describe the insurmountable fucking guilt that had been gnawing at Dirk when he’d realised that he’d literally stolen Jane’s fiancé from her. What’s worse was that she had no idea—yet. What was even _worse_ than worse was that at least half of Jake’s reasons for not wanting to marry her still applied to Dirk: tradition dictated that he should one day find a Queen of his own. At the very least, someone to rule by his side. By ditching Jane in favour of Dirk, Jake was technically still condemning himself to the same royal fate. Selfishly, Dirk had thus far neglected to point all this out.

Jake sighed. “I suppose there’s still that to deal with.”

What if Jake _did_ stay—what would happen? Would there be an outrage from Prospit, a scandal—accusations of abduction? How would the people of Derse react—how would the media react? Would the council vote to overthrow Dirk and replace him with a stand-in until the King returned— _if_ he returned? What bearing would it all have on the newly-formed truce? Would it cause its dissolution, so soon after its establishment? There were too many variables, too many unknowns. By a stroke of the worst kind of ill luck, whatever was between Dirk and Jake was more than just a personal issue—it was a literal federal fucking issue, in that practically everything they did affected the kingdoms in some way. It was far more complicated than it would be if they were ordinary plebeians. It was Romeo and Juliet to the extreme—except, as Roxy would say, a lot gayer.

“Maybe distance will do you some good,” Dirk said. “Help you figure out what you really want. If it’s really me, or… if I’m just a way out of your Prospitian responsibilities.”

Jake looked offended. He stepped around the desk, grabbing Dirk’s elbow—with force—and staring him straight in the eyes. “Romantic capers notwithstanding, Dirk, you’re still my best bro.” He squeezed Dirk’s arm, gently; affectionately. “What is it that _you_ want?”

He wanted to say it. Wanted to say that he would give up his station—give up the crown, give up fucking _everything_ —if it meant he could be with Jake. It was sappy as fuck, yes, and insanely cheesy, but he didn’t care. For years the idea of ever even _meeting_ Jake had been the subject of his dreams, and when it had turned out that Jake, in his own funny way, somehow _reciprocated_? Well. That had been one hell of a fucking night, a dream and a nightmare all rolled into one—on one hand, his brother, shell shocked and traumatised, his doppelgänger lifeless on the floor; on the other hand, the hope—the _slightest sliver of hope_ —that _he_ might be the true object of the object of his long-term affections’ affections.

So, yeah. He wanted to say it. He wanted to _want_ it. But he didn’t want to lie. Sure, Dirk really, _really_ liked Jake—loved him, even. But no one was worth forsaking his kingdom for. It sounded callous to say so, but it was only realistic. Rational. That was the true difference between him and Jake and Romeo and Juliet. They were still teenagers, sure; but they were also adults, and in adult roles. They had to think like adults, and act like adults, even if they didn’t want to—and, really, who did?

What did he want? He wanted Jake to stay, and he knew it wouldn’t take much convincing. But it would be irresponsible of them both. In the face of everything, it was too much of a risk.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually, his voice weak and quiet to his own ears.

Jake frowned, his hand falling from Dirk’s arm. Dirk was vaguely disappointed at the loss of contact, but Jake just wrapped his arms around him instead, hooking his chin over Dirk’s shoulder. Dirk didn’t hesitate to return the embrace, but his arms felt inadequate; even with no space left between them, he couldn’t seem to pull Jake close enough.

“It’s really been something, Dirk, getting to know you in person,” Jake said softly, his breath ghosting across the back of Dirk’s neck. “I’ll miss you.”

“Yeah,” Dirk sighed, breathing in the now-familiar scent of cinnamon musk and Earl Grey tea. “You, too.”

 

Ten, fifteen minutes later, down on the front driveway, Jake hugged him again—though this time, less intimate; not as lingering. Not dissimilar to the bro-hugs he could see John giving Dave and Karkat.

“I’ll be sure to pester you, first opportunity,” Jake informed him with a grin.

Dirk didn’t have time to reply before he had an armful of sniffling Roxy.

“I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this,” she snivelled into his clavicle, squeezing him like a tube of toothpaste.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her, hugging her back with marginally less fervour. “I still think it’s a good idea, Rox. I’m proud of you.”

Roxy nodded, sniffing wetly. “I’ll miss you, though,” she muttered. “What will you do without me?”

Dirk almost laughed. “Be really fuckin’ bored, all the damn time,” he said.

She pulled away, her hands firmly planted on his shoulders. “Look after yourself, okay?” she said. “And Dave. I’m still really worried about the whole… Time dealio.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

She smiled. “I know you will.”

“You, too, okay? Look after yourself. And Rose.”

“Um, what do you _take_ me for, Dirk?” She winked, and finally let go of him.

Next was Kankri, who offered a dignified hand for Dirk to shake. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said snootily, “I’ll be sure to inform the Queen about what an excellent host your city has been for us. I…” His pretentious mask slipped a little. “I’m sorry for the troubles I might have caused. Thank you again for rescuing my brother,” He sighed. “I hate to ask another favour, but—”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” said Dirk. “At least, I’ll make sure he doesn’t come to harm.”

Kankri nodded tightly, his stately demeanour firmly back in place.

John also shook Dirk’s hand, wishing him well and thanking him for the accommodations—though more emphatically and with less formality than Kankri, wearing a sunny grin that brought out the resemblance between him and Jake.

Kanaya shook his hand, as well.

“Our stay has been highly enjoyable,” she told him. “Eventful, yes, and not always in a good way, but that’s really only served to make the whole experience more interesting.”

“I can’t disagree there,” said Dirk. “So, you and Rose…”

Kanaya chuckled coyly. “I have no designs on your sister’s virtue, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, more that _she_ has designs on yours.”

Dirk was pretty sure he could see the faintest hint of jade green dusting Kanaya’s cheekbones. “Oh… Um, perhaps.”

He let out a short laugh. “Just keep her in check, will you?”

Kanaya smiled pleasantly, and nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”

Rose hugged Dirk, though less emphatically than Roxy, and with more poise than Jake. She smiled when she pulled away, though Dirk was sure he could detect a hint of melancholy in her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just… nervous,” she said.

“Did you sort things out with Dave?”

She nodded again. “He came to see me, earlier. Really, neither of us are too happy about the situation, but… it’s what must be done.”

Well. If she was sure, Dirk wasn’t going to make the mistake of questioning her.

“It’s a shame we have to be split into pairs like this again,” Rose continued. “Especially so soon after reuniting.”

“It’s as you said,” Dirk began, shaking his head, “it’s what must be done. Right?”

“Right.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you. You, too.” She kissed him on the cheek before going to give Dave another hug.

A few minutes later, the gates were swinging closed behind Prospit’s bright yellow bus, carrying more than just Prospitians. He felt a fist tap his shoulder as he watched it disappear down the hill, and looked to his left to see Dave. Karkat stood a little ways behind him, arms folded; eyes on the ground.

“Just us now, huh?” said Dave.

“Guess so,” Dirk replied. “Nice scarf,” he commented.

“Rose,” Dave said in explanation.

Dirk nodded, and turned back to watch the bus again. By now it had reached the town, and Dirk could see the indistinct figures of citizens lining the street, watching the almost blindingly bright Prospitmobile roll past.

“So,” Dave continued, “I was thinking we should have pizza tonight.”

“Yeah,” agreed Dirk, as the bus turned a corner and disappeared from view. “Sounds good.”

ROXY: lets just get this show on the road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A relatively quick update?? It's a Christmas Miracle!!!
> 
> No, but, really--this is my holiday gift from me to you, dear readers. This decidedly bittersweet chapter which I very much enjoyed writing and hope you enjoyed reading! This is a special chapter, as I'm sure you can tell, because it marks the end of the truce plot line and the Prospitians' visit to Derse. In many ways, this chapter marks the end of the first act of this fic, and I'm beyond excited to get into the second act. I have no qualms against telling you that the next chapter will be an intermission of sorts--and probably the last update before the new year!
> 
> Anyway, I'm going to shut up for once in my damn life as soon as I wish you all a happy holidays!! Have a good one, friends. :D


	33. Intermission: Seer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You really think you could beat me?” she jibed._  
>  _“What, my sword against your flimsy-ass needles? Fuck yeah I could beat you, I can beat down any of those losers. It’s boring as shit.”_  
>  _“How about your sword against my_ magic _needles?”_

_Months in the past, but not many…_

\-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] \--  
  
GG: hi TG!!  
TG: hey  
GG: i had a dream about you last night!  
TG: nice  
TG: was it hot  
GG: :|  
GG: seriously?  
TG: i just wanna know ok  
GG: no!!!!  
GG: definitely not in the way youre insinuating!  
TG: hey im not insinuating anything youre just projecting your filthy assumptions onto my words   
TG: i could have meant like  
TG: was it in a desert  
TG: or in the middle of summer  
TG: or in the centre of a fucking volcano  
GG: riiiiight  
GG: suuuuuuuure  
GG: thats exaaaaactly what you meant!  
TG: you dont know it wasnt  
GG: i think i know you well enough to know that you were definitely not referring to the weather!  
TG: alright fine  
TG: you got me  
TG: i wanted to know if you were having freaky dreams about me  
TG: a guys gotta get his ego boosts from somewhere you know  
GG: right  
GG: sure ;)  
TG: dont you wink at me young lady  
TG: that is downright lascivious   
GG: you started it!  
TG: you cant prove that  
GG: yes i so totally can, its right there in the chat log!!  
TG: or is it????  
GG: :O  
GG: hehehehe ok anyway lets stop being idiots for two seconds  
TG: yeah alright  
TG: so what was i doing in your dreams this time  
TG: slaying a dragon  
TG: pullin some sick stunts on a skateboard  
TG: slappin down some unreal beats  
GG: close to the first one actually!  
TG: wait really  
GG: kinda?  
GG: you were running through a whole lot of smoke, and there was a troll lady with really tall horns  
TG: and then i murderised her  
GG: no!!  
GG: she was fighting this really scary monster  
GG: and then another one came up behind her and she wasnt gonna turn around fast enough to defend herself  
GG: so you leapt into battle and put the monster to rest!!  
GG: ...i assume  
GG: i dont remember what happened after you fended off the monster with a sword  
TG: huh  
TG: well  
TG: i am pretty fuckin badass with a sword  
GG: hehe i know!  
TG: but ive never fought any actual legit monsters  
TG: whatd it look like  
GG: ummmmmm...  
GG: well, it was big,  
GG: and black,  
GG: and really strong!!  
TG: was it the rock  
GG: what?  
TG: was it ya boi dwayne  
GG: ._.  
TG: nvm  
GG: ummmm ok!  
GG: anyway it had a really long tail!!  
GG: it was kind of like... a giant lizard??  
GG: i dont really remember much else...  
GG: there was a lot of smoke so i couldnt see much!  
TG: huh  
TG: well  
TG: thats pretty cool i guess  
GG: yep! :)  
TG: ok but heres something i dont get  
TG: like youre always mentioning how youve seen me and TT in dreams and shit  
TG: but   
TG: how the fuck do you even know what we look like  
GG: uuuhhh...  
GG: im not sure!  
GG: i just do i guess??  
TG: well that answer definitely isnt an answer  
GG: its hard to explain! when i see you in the dream i kinda just... know that its you??  
GG: but then when i wake up i cant remember how i knew, or even what you looked like!!  
GG: i just know that I saw you  
GG: and i know that what i saw will probably come to pass!  
TG: yeah  
TG: well i mean   
TG: youve already proved the part about the future bullshit  
TG: even more accurate than TTs shit and thats saying something  
TG: she didnt even know it was gonna rain that day  
TG: meanwhile youre all TG dont go outside tomorrow or something really really bad will happen and it will make me really really sad!!!!!!!!! :( :( :( <3 <3 <3  
GG: that is so totally not what i said!  
GG: and thats not even how i talk!!  
TG: yeah whatever  
TG: anyway theres me totally unaware  
TG: yeah right GG what are you a fucking seer or something  
TG: and youre no im even better because i can actually see the future rather than just saying vague bullshit and not actually knowing things for sure!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :D :D :D  
GG: :/  
TG: sure whatever im not even gonna listen to you because that is totally ridiculous  
TG: and i mean its still ridiculous but it serves me fucking right catching the abominable fucking flu and not being able to move for two fucking weeks for fear of throwing up or shitting myself or both   
GG: ewwww :/  
TG: these are merely the realities GG  
TG: one day you will understand  
GG: ive had the flu before, you know!  
GG: it really sucks...  
TG: youre telling me  
TG: but im just saying  
TG: shouldve listened to you  
GG: aww ;)  
TG: anyway you caught me at a bad time  
TG: i gotta go to practice  
GG: practice??  
TG: swords  
GG: oh right!  
TG: yep  
TG: gonna go show a bunch of elitist pretentious jerkoffs how its fuckin well DONE  
GG: hehehe yeah!!   
GG: you show them TG!!!!  
TG: you know i will  
GG: uhuh ;)  
TG: anyway  
TG: ttyl  
GG: byyeeee!! <3 :)  
  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG] \--

Dave turned off his device and slipped it into its usual spot under his pillow, mainly out of habit. Not like he really needed to hide his things, since the only other person who was ever in here was Rose, and she would never steal his stuff. She wasn’t a snoop, either, so he didn’t have that to worry about—she didn’t really need to be, with her Seer stuff.

Speaking of Rose, where was she? He was pretty sure she didn’t have any lessons or anything at the moment. He glanced across at her bed, perfectly made as always. He glanced down at his own as he stood. Not even remotely _made_ , let alone perfectly so. What was even the point? He was just going to be getting back into it in several hours.

He shrugged to himself and headed out of their tiny shared bedroom, through their barely-larger shared living space, and out into the hallway, only to almost collide with—think of the devil—Rose.

“There you are,” he said. “Coming to practice?”

“Practice?” she repeated. “Oh, practice. I forgot I was supposed to go sometime this week. Um, no, I actually have something else I need to do right now.”

“GG talk to you, too?” he asked.

She nodded. “She did. Something about a book, one which I know to be kept in the Temple library’s main collection. I don’t have my borrower’s permit on me, so I was coming back here to fetch it.”

“You’re really skipping practice to go get a book?” It was so like her it wasn’t funny. “You just don’t wanna get beat.”

“You really think you could beat me?” she jibed.

“What, my sword against your flimsy-ass needles? Fuck yeah I could beat you, I can beat down any of those losers. It’s boring as shit.”

“How about your sword against my _magic_ needles?”

“Well, that’s kinda cheating, since you’re the only one who can use those things. But I bet I could still take you. And it’d be a hell of a lot more interesting than showing a bunch of uninterested acolytes their own asses.”

“I’m sure it’d be more interesting for them, too,” Rose pointed out. “You know a lot of them think I keep you here as my bodyguard?”

Dave snorted. “Did you tell them that’s abso-fucking-lutely why you keep me here?”

“Of course.”

“Nice. Anyway, come on. Get your magic wands and lets go,” he tried.

She shook her head. “No, Dave. I really think I need to do this as soon as possible.”

He sighed. “Seer bullshit?”

“Something like that. What did our garden-loving friend tell _you_ , anyway?”

He shrugged. “Something about me being a badass and takin’ out some giant lizardy monster.”

Rose’s eyebrows tilted towards each other. “That’s almost concerning.”

“Why?”

“The only sort of _monster_ I can think of are the horrorterrors of the Furthest Ring.”

Oh. Yeah, okay, that was true. “Well. Maybe I’m destined to enlist.”

Her eyebrows only burrowed further towards the top of her nose. “Promise me you won’t.”

“Well, if fate demands it…”

“Dave.”

“Why the fuck would I want to take orders from some self-righteous troll asshole? Joining the army isn’t exactly on my bucket list, calm your tits.”

His assurance didn’t seem to convince her, but she dropped the subject nonetheless. “Take it easy today, alright?” she said, stepping around him to open the door to their quarters.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, rolling his eyes behind his shades.

“I meant take it easy on the acolytes. I get that you’re restless, but there won’t be much I can do to convince administration to let you stay if you fracture any more collarbones,” she elaborated, giving him that severe look that she only ever gave him when she was scolding him, but concerned about him at the same time—the look that was simultaneously touching and annoying, funnily enough.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “I’ll even let them get in a few hits, make them feel real fuckin’ good about themselves.”

She nodded, and offered him a brief smile. “Have fun.”

He pulled a face. “After telling me to let someone else win? Not fucking likely. Good luck with your book thing.”

“Thanks.”

And then they continued on their respective paths.

 

It was tricky, and also boring, but Dave managed to keep to his word and go easy on the other chumps at weapons practice. It wasn’t like he was a notorious menace, or anything, he was just a lot better than everyone else (partially because it wasn’t like he had much else to do, it had to be said). He’d accidentally severely injured someone _one time_ and yet everyone held it against him like _he_ was the monster. The guy was kind of an asshole, anyway, so he pretty much deserved it—and it had been his own damn fault. The supervisor had already declared the match over. The idiot had been angry about losing, so he’d gone for a potshot just as Dave was turning to leave—aiming for the top of the ribs, right by the armpit, which would have been fucking painful if it had connected. Of course, Dave was _basically_ a ninja and it was impossible to get one over on him: his reflexes had acted almost independently of his conscious mind ( _almost_ ) and… well. Long story short, his elbow was a lot tougher than the other guy’s collarbone. He’d actually been aiming for the jugular, so the dude should have been counting himself _fucking lucky_ that all he got was a fractured collarbone. And hey, it wasn’t like Dave had come out of it completely unscathed—his elbow had ached for the rest of the damn day.

But anyway, today he pretended to be off his game; fly under the radar for once. He wouldn’t be able to fly under the radar at all once the dude he’d justly injured was allowed to return to practice. He’d probably demand a rematch, make a big, unnecessary deal out of it. Rose would probably advise that Dave let him win, so they would be ‘even’ and the dude would leave him alone. What was that guy’s name, anyway? Not like it mattered, probably something dumb. But, anyway, Dave doubted the guy would leave him alone if he let him win—he’d probably keep lording it over him, as if somehow he had the upper hand. And yet, if Dave won again, there was roughly a fifty-fifty chance that the guy would either concede defeat and _then_ leave him alone, or resort to underhanded tactics again. Which wouldn’t be a big deal—just annoying.

He’d deal with it when the time came, he supposed. It wasn’t the first time this sort of thing had happened: disciples came and went, but Dave and Rose didn’t have anywhere else to go.

Rose wasn’t there when he got back to their rooms, but an unfamiliar book was sat atop the end table beside the armchair. Curious, (mainly because it was the book that had something to do with GG’s strange, prophetic, slightly creepy dreams,) he went over to have a look at it. It was an old children’s book, one that had clearly been mended multiple times, but had yet to fully kick the book-bucket. The title read _Tales of Daedalus_. Wasn’t Daedalus some sort of Roman dude? Or, wait, no—Greek? Definitely more Rose’s style than his, anyway. So, really, GG had pretty much just given Rose a book recommendation. Three cheers for self-fulfilling prophecies.

Curiosity sated, he replaced the book on the end table and went and had a shower.

 

The next day was their birthday. All they got was a day off. The Temple had instated a town-wide holiday to honour the Seer of Light’s sixteenth birthday.

Dave got birthday wishes from EB and GG, Rose had knitted him an ironically shitty Christmas sweater (coincidentally enough, he had bought _her_ an ironically shitty Christmas sweater from the dollar store in town), and that was enough for him.

Rose could have gone out and lived up her fame, collecting presents from admirers all over town, and Dave had even suggested that she did; maybe she’d rake in some pretty sick loot. But she was more content to spend the day holed up in their quarters with Dave, for some unknown reason. She was a strange girl, that was for sure.

It was midday on their birthday. Dave was lying on his front on the sofa working on a new rap, and Rose was curled up in the armchair reading _Tales of Daedalus._

“We’ll leave here soon,” she said suddenly.

Dave looked up. Rose was still fixated on the book, and he wondered briefly if he’d only _imagined_ that she’d said something.

“Soon? How soon?” he asked cautiously, in case he had.

Rose hummed thoughtfully, but said nothing more.

TG: what are you a fucking seer or something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Last update for 2016! I've said before that I would be writing this fic even if no one was reading it, and maybe that was true at one point, but it isn't anymore. I won't go into it, but I very honestly would not be still working on it without you people commenting and leaving kudos and all that lovely stuff. Actually, it's kind of interesting to think that anyone who is actually reading this note has more than likely read all 150,000+ words of this monster so far and that's just ??? god damn go read an actual book or something 
> 
> No, but really, I appreciate you so fucking much and thank you for being here, whether you've been following from the beginning or only just found this story yesterday! Over 3000 hits and close to 250 kudos are 3000+ hits and ~250 kudos more than I deserve holy shit.


	34. Maintaining Temporal Stability

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was adrenaline, they’d figured out. Adrenaline was the trigger for their weird-ass respective superpowers. Something about strenuous, dangerous, or otherwise stressful situations drew it out of them—and with what they had figured out about the Knight class, it sort of made sense?_

_Months in the future, but not many…_

 

It was the same old stuff. The same familiar pattern that was so easy to fall into when up against a predictable opponent. It was like some sort of mirror effect; predictable is as predictable does, or something like that that sounds profound as all heck but doesn’t actually mean anything. Dodge, thrust, parry, swipe; dodge, thrust, parry, swipe. Ad infinitum. Or at least until Dave decided to win.

“We really need to work on your patterns, dude,” said Dave, hooking his sword through Karkat’s sickle and disarming him with one easy flick.

“God fucking damn it,” Karkat panted. “Can you stop doing that?”

“Nah,” said Dave, using the lull between sparring matches as an opportunity to stretch.

It was mid-afternoon on a mid-winter day, and they stood in the middle of the Midnight Hall, which had been cleared to make room for strifing. The training grounds outside were well and truly buried under several inches of snow, and though Dave was all too willing to give sparring in the snow a go, they weren’t sparring just for the sake of it, or even for any purpose that sparring might ordinarily have. Dave was pretty fucking sure their situation was unique.

It was adrenaline, they’d figured out. Adrenaline was the trigger for their weird-ass respective superpowers. Something about strenuous, dangerous, or otherwise stressful situations drew it out of them—and with what they had figured out about the Knight class, it sort of made sense? In any case, they needed to _train_ these abilities, and in order to do so they needed to draw them out. Which, they hypothesised, could be done by pumping themselves full of epinephrine, that wonderful naturally-produced fight-or-flight response hormone. The best way to do _that_ , obviously, was by fighting or flying. One guess as to which they decided to go with.

It was convenient, actually—Dave had been meaning to get back into a routine. Though he’d figured his strifing partner would be Dirk. Unfortunately, the Prince Monarch was busy as fuck. He only occasionally joined in on Dave and Karkat’s training sessions, and was a considerably more challenging opponent.

To give him some credit, Karkat _had_ been somewhat of a challenge for, like, the first day. He was quick (but not as quick as Dave), and had a surprising amount of strength behind his attacks. However, he wasn’t a very creative fighter, and his patterns of attack were pretty samesy. In other words, he was predictable, and as soon as Dave had figured him out he’d no longer posed any sort of tactical challenge. He’d learned pretty quickly to never block Karkat’s attacks, firstly because of aforementioned _surprising strength_ and secondly because the shape of a sickle gave Karkat the advantage in those situations.

Not that Karkat would ever intentionally hurt him. He was like crème brûlée: he had a hard shell, but once you cracked through, it was all just soft, custardy goodness. Well, maybe not literally. Crème brûlée was some good shit, though. Still didn’t beat any food containing apples, but it came close, and sounded fancy as fuck, too. Definitely sounded fancier than, like, ‘apple pie.’ That was the most basic-sounding dessert on the planet.

Anyway, fighting technique aside, it was good to be back in a sparring regimen—Dave enjoyed the exercise, and it had the desired effect of getting him pumped full of adrenaline, at which point it got a little tricky. He had to suspend some of his concentration on the strife in order to try and coax some Timey-wimey shit from the tips of his fingers or something. Aradia had been there the first few days, and had provided Dave with some things to try for: time jumps of a few seconds at a time (just enough to duplicate himself in battle—he’d managed it a few times, and not only was it really fucking weird, but also really fucking exhausting), slowing down or halting the flow of time (which, apparently, was a bigger deal than he’d originally thought for obscure existential reasons he didn’t care to comprehend), and _mentally_ jumping forward in time in order to predict his opponent’s next move. He could barely _physically_ time jump, how was he supposed to do it with just his mind? That just sounded fucking dangerous. Besides, Dave definitely didn’t need to look into the future to predict Karkat’s moves in combat. Or, hey! Maybe he was doing it already!

Nope, he was just fucking awesome at this shit.

The time jumping was the biggest one; the one he wanted to work on the most. He already had one outstanding time loop to close, and the sooner he took care of it the better. According to Dirk, he’d been sweat-soaked and holding a sword when he’d appeared in the meeting, so… that boded well regarding this sparring regimen. Dirk had also said his shades were broken—which _didn’t_ bode so well. Dave hated to admit it, but he already needed new shades. The arms on his current pair were only getting wobblier and barely staying on during combat. So, really, his attention was divided in three directions: strifing, Time bullshit, and making sure his shades didn’t fly off his face.

Karkat heaved an overdramatic sigh and bent to pick up his sickle. “What do you mean, work on my patterns?”

“I mean stop being so predictable,” Dave explained. “Make it interesting. Who knows, maybe catching me off guard is the secret to time travel?”

“Well how the fuck do you suggest I do that? Unlike you, I didn’t spend most of my life perfecting the art of being an asshole in combat,” said Karkat, checking his sickle for dings and scratches. It was a custom made piece, wrought from strips of metal in gaudy shades of pink and green, and Karkat treated it as he probably would an abandoned kitten, polishing and sharpening it every day and affectionately naming it ‘Homes Smell Ya Later,’ which, even Dave had to admit, was a pretty fucking great name for a weapon. He didn’t think Karkat was being ironic about it, though, which was both hilarious and strangely endearing.

Dave hadn’t bothered to get anything custom made; the royal armoury had had a nice, well-balanced sword with a leather-wrapped grip and unnecessarily elaborate hilt. It was apparently dubbed ‘The Deringer’ by the smith who had forged it, which also sounded way too sincere to not be kind of hilarious, but it was a good sword, nonetheless. It was sharp and pointy and a sword, and that pretty much made it awesome by default.

“I don’t know, man. I can’t just _tell_ you how to catch me off guard. Ever tried, like, feinting?” Dave suggested.

Karkat frowned. He did that a lot. “Okay, but since you just suggested that, won’t you now _expect_ it, completely voiding the point of me even fucking trying?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’d expect it so much that you _not_ doing it would catch me off guard even more.”

“But now you’ve just suggested _that_ , so how the fuck am I supposed to know what you’re expecting and not expecting?”

“This isn’t time travel, dude. Well, it is, or it’s supposed to be, but let _me_ worry about that part, ‘kay? It’s really not as complicated as you’re making it out to be. Well, the time travel is, but not the combat.” He hefted his sword in his grip and readied himself on the balls of his feet.

Karkat groaned. “You want to go _again_? For the seventh fucking time today?”

Usually they stopped at five matches, but ever since they’d started today, Dave had felt like he’d been right on the verge of some sort of breakthrough, without really even knowing what he was breaking through _to_.

“Yeah, bro, come on. One more time.”

“Fine,” Karkat groaned, readying himself just barely in time to deflect Dave’s first strike.

The feeling returned in full force as soon as the pattern resumed, the clanging of their weapons the treble to the bass of his heart thudding in his ears. It was _there_ but he didn’t know what it was or how to coax it out further. His attention was already divided enough—maybe strifing _wasn’t_ the best way to do this.

Karkat aimed a swipe towards Dave’s head, which he dodged—as always—but, this time, Karkat finally took advantage of the fact that he was as familiar with Dave’s fighting style as vice versa, and stuck out a leg right where Dave danced out of the way, forcing him to do some sort of inelegant pirouette just to stay on his feet, which resultantly forced him to block Karkat’s next swing—something he’d long resolved not to do. The shock of the hit ran up his arms and into his shoulders.

“I didn’t tell you to fight dirty!” he got out between breaths in the brief time their weapons were locked together, before Karkat grinned (or grimaced?) and retracted his sickle to aim another hooking swipe. Dave ducked, rolling forward and coming up behind Karkat, who was quick to try and catch Dave off balance.

The feeling was stronger now, something powerful and familiar (yet completely unknown) just at the edges of his consciousness, pulsing through him in time with the thrumming of his blood through his veins. They fell back into a more familiar pattern of swipe, parry, thrust, dodge, and Dave took the opportunity to concentrate more fully on coaxing this feeling out even further. It was like trying to remember a word that sat on the tip of his tongue but refused to spring to his lips. It was _there_ , and yet it wasn’t, and it was frustrating as all hell.

So absorbed was he in trying to pull forth _whatever the fuck this was_ that Karkat managed to catch him off guard a second time, first aiming a downward two-handed jab, which Dave prepared to deflect, before dropping one hand from the sickle’s handle and instead throwing his body weight into in upwards swipe, right towards Dave’s face. The unexpected reversal broke Dave’s concentration—he tried to lean backwards out of the way, but was a split second too late. The sickle grazed a hot line across his cheekbone and knocked his shades clean off his face.

Startled in multiple ways, Dave lost his balance and gravity yanked him backwards. He landed painfully on his back, whacking the back of his head on the marble floor and knocking the air out of him.

The feeling disappeared.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Dave heard Karkat exclaim as he lay there, eyes shut tight, waiting for his lungs to calm the fuck down so he could breathe properly. He heard Karkat practically skid to his knees beside him; felt fingers hovering near his shoulder. “Dave? Dave? Fuck, please tell me you’re fucking okay.”

Dave nodded tightly. “Winded,” he gasped, with what little air he could get.

“Is that bad?”

_“Well it’s not fucking good, that’s for damn sure,”_ was what Dave _would_ have said, had he been able. Instead, he continued to struggle for breath as if he’d spontaneously been transported into a vacuum, opening his eyes enough to roll them at Karkat.

Karkat’s brow furrowed. “What’s _that_ supposed to fucking mean? I _assume_ it means you’re okay, although I wouldn’t put it past you of all people to act like a sarcastic sack of shitmuffin in the most serious of fucking situations, such as _literal imminent death_.”

“I’m not fucking dying,” Dave managed to get out, Karkat’s tirade lengthy enough for Dave’s breathing to return to almost normal. He sat up with some effort, lifting his fingers to his stinging cheekbone. There was a little bit of blood, but it wasn’t too bad. It just stung like a bitch. “That was a good one. _That_ was what I meant by catching me off guard.” He looked up at Karkat, who, rather than scowling, as Dave expected him to be, looked apologetic. Like a puppy who _knew_ he wasn’t supposed to chew those fucking slippers, but had done it anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, avoiding Dave’s eyes—maybe it was weirder for him when Dave didn’t have his shades on. It was definitely weirder for Dave; other than his eyes aching, everything looked washed-out and overexposed, and his face felt strangely naked. “I think I got too far into it and forgot that this is just supposed to be… ugh, a fucking _training_ session,” Karkat continued.

“You didn’t get me _that_ badly,” Dave said. “You only got me at all because I was totally sure I was about to time travel the fuck out of here.”

Karkat looked up at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He made to stand. Karkat stood with him, hovering by as though he thought Dave would topple over. And, sure, there was the _slightest_ bit of vertigo and he felt like he’d just run a marathon with a freight train at his heels, a freight train which had eventually caught up with him and assaulted his spine and the back of his head, but he wasn’t about to faint or anything. “Let’s go again, I’ve _totally_ fucking got it this time.”

“ _What?!”_ Karkat exploded as Dave looked around to see where his shades had landed, a few feet away. He had a bad feeling about this—a bad feeling which was also a good feeling for an entirely different reason.

“Just once more,” Dave said airily as he crossed the hall to pick them up.

“ _Fuck_ no, not after that. I wouldn’t put it anywhere past you to be downplaying your injuries—I know your type Dave, and I like to think I know _you_. Remember when I first got here and you were busy fronting like everything was all totally fucking cool and running as smoothly as could possibly fucking be? Whilst you were actually slowly killing yourself with exhaustion and pretending it wasn’t as bad as it really was? _Remember that, Dave?_ ”

Dave bent to pick up his shades. Just as he thought, the right-side lens was cracked. Damn. Rest in peace, shades; may you always be remembered for how fucking smooth and awesome you were. Smoother and more awesome than dark fucking chocolate, bitches. He was going to have to message John to request another pair, for ironically sentimental reasons.

Karkat was still ranting. “You aren’t even fucking listening to me, are you? This is fucking _bullshit_ is what this is, and I regret ever agreeing to stay in this cretinous bilgedump of a city to ‘ _hone my abilities’_ with some selfish, shades-wearing, douchey pain in the waste chute.”

“Karkat, chill,” said Dave, sliding his shades back onto his face. The giant crack across the lens was pretty damn noticeable and obstructing, unfortunately, but he would just have to deal with it for now. “I won’t let your lame rainbow sword anywhere near me this time. Just, come on. We’re _finally_ making some real, actual progress.”

“Then you can find someone else to make ‘real, actual progress _’_ with!” Karkat bellowed, crossing his arms tightly and kicking his sickle away from him, sending it skittering across the marble floor. He literally looked like a child throwing a tantrum.

Dave shrugged. “Alright,” he said, and crossed the room to where he’d shed like seven layers of clothing before they’d begun today’s session. He extracted his circlet from underneath his hoodie and jammed it on his head, looking pointedly at Karkat.

“Fuck. You,” Karkat growled, turning and practically sprinting over to where he’d ditched his own stuff. So now it was a race, great.

Dave didn’t bother sitting down as he opened pesterchum: if he did, it would be that much harder to get up. He was already aching all over and ready for some apple juice and a nap (like the manly man he was), but he _needed_ to keep going, _needed_ to do this today. He couldn’t really explain why, and certainly not in a way that Karkat would understand, stubborn as he was, but he knew who _would_ understand.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
  
TG: yo youre free at the moment right  
TT: No.  
TG: k cool come to the midnight hall for a quick strife  
TG: karkats being a major pissbaby and doesnt want to continue today   
TG: but i have a pretty fucking compelling case as to why we totally should  
TT: Hm.  
TT: Hold that thought a second, someone else is messaging me.  
TG: yeah of fucking course they are its obviously karkat just ignore him im more important  
TG: huh wait someones messaging me too  
TG: oh god fucking damn it

“ _Really_ , Karkat?” Dave called across to where Karkat was sat up against the wall, furiously tapping away on the screen of his device.

Karkat didn’t reply.

Dave rolled his eyes.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] opened new memo on board DAVEISAFUCKINGIDIOT.  
  
CG: ATTENTION STRIDER ONE AND STRIDER TWO.  
CG: PAY ATTENTION TO THE FUCKING BOARD NAME BECAUSE IT MORE OR LESS SUMS UP THE ENTIRE POINT THAT I’M TRYING TO MAKE HERE:  
CG: DAVE IS A FUCKING IDIOT.  
CG: DOES THE PROPER USE OF SPACING MAKE IT EASIER TO UNDERSTAND? I SURE FUCKING HOPE SO!  
turntechGodhead [TG] responded to memo.  
TG: come the fuck on dude you are making a way bigger deal out of this than what needs to be made  
CG: I THINK THE DEAL I’M MAKING, DAVE, IS PERFECTLY FUCKING PROPORTIONAL TO THE SITUATION.  
TG: im pretty sure youre not even capable of that  
TG: making an unnecessarily big deal out of things is a talent of yours  
CG: YOU’RE RIGHT, I AM VERY TALENTED AT THINGS. THANK YOU, DAVE.  
CG: BUT THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT. FLATTERY WILL GET YOU NOWHERE.  
timaeusTestified [TT] responded to memo.  
TT: Oh dear.  
CG: OH DEAR IS RIGHT!  
CG: I’M SURE YOUR BROTHER’S ALREADY CONTACTED YOU IN AN ATTEMPT TO COMMISSION YOU TO STRIFE WITH HIM, PROBABLY GIVING YOU SOME BULLSHIT STORY ABOUT “ALMOST HAVING IT” OR BEING “SO CLOSE” TO FIGURING OUT THE TIME TRAVEL STUFF.  
CG: WHICH IS GREAT AND ALL, REALLY, BUT I’M PRETTY SURE THAT WHEN YOU RIDE A HORSE, YOU DON’T KEEP IT AT A STEADY FUCKING GALLOP UNTIL IT COLLAPSES DEAD UNDER YOUR UNCARING ASS.  
CG: YOU NEED TO GIVE THAT GREAT STINKING HOOFBEAST SOME FUCKING FOOD AND WATER AND REST AND SHIT AND TREAT IT LIKE THE LIVING, BREATHING CREATURE IT IS.  
TG: are you really comparing me to a fucking horse right now  
CG: IT’S A METAPHOR, DAVE!! A FIGURATIVE DEVICE TO HELP ME ILLUSTRATE THE POINT I’M MAKING! SOUND FAMILIAR?  
TG: i know what a metaphor is asswipe   
TG: a metaphor analogically compares one thing to another therefore you are literally comparing me to a horse right now regardless of how you want to excuse it  
TG: but aside from that  
TG: if in this metaphor i am indeed the horse  
TG: then the horse fucking knows when it needs some god damn basic amenities and therefore has every opportunity to vault whatever fatass is riding it into the sunset and go find a river or a barn or some shit.  
TT: That’s not quite how that usually tends to go down.  
TT: Riding a horse to death isn’t an uncommon thing, largely because horses are loyal and all too willing to serve even the most fatassiest of fatasses to their very last parch-throated whinny.  
TT: It’s beautiful, in a tragic way.  
TG: oh   
TG: really  
CG: HAH! SEE??  
TG: ok but i think you might be forgetting  
TG: im not actually a fucking horse and have full awareness of my own physical state and no fatasses clinging to my back squeezing my sides with their flesh-padded knees  
TT: Okay, this back and forth isn’t achieving anything. Largely because I have only the barest fuckin’ clue what this is even about.  
TG: aight so we’re strifing and stuff  
TG: and i am so fucking close to getting this time travel thing  
TG: i can just  
TG: FEEL it  
TG: but i was concentrating on it so hard that karkat caught me a glancing blow across the face and cracked my shades in the last match  
TG: and now he refuses to go one more round in which i am completely fucking certain ill finally be able to close this dumb voting loop because he thinks ill break or something idfk  
CG: I DON’T THINK YOU’LL “BREAK” I JUST DON’T WISH TO BE ANY PART OF YOUR BIZARRE SELF-DESTRUCTIVE MASOCHISM.  
CG: I’M NOT EVEN THAT WORRIED ABOUT HITTING YOU AGAIN, OKAY? I’M JUST  
CG: FUCKING  
CG: UGH.  
TT: You’re what?  
CG: IT DOESN’T MATTER.  
TT: It sounds like it does matter, at least to you, but alright.  
TT: Dave, what makes you so sure you’re about to close the loop?  
TG: easy  
TG: cut on face  
TG: smashed shades  
TG: swords  
TG: literally exactly what you described  
TT: Hmm.  
CG: THAT DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING!  
TG: of course it fucking does dude this is about maintaining temporal stability  
TG: i wouldnt expect you to understand and thats cool you can stick to your blood thing  
CG: I AM FUCKING TRYING!!!  
CG: I AM TRYING SO FUCKING HARD, BECAUSE ISN’T BEING A KNIGHT OF BLOOD SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT SHOWING *COMPASSION* AND PROTECTING PEOPLE WITH THE POWER OF FUCKING *FRIENDSHIP*?   
CG: THERE’S NO REASON WHY THAT CAN’T APPLY TO PROTECTING PEOPLE FROM THEMSELVES!  
TT: You both have good points.  
CG: THANK YOU.  
TG: no fucking way  
TG: dirk dont listen to him hes full of shit  
TG: i feel fine and i dont need protecting from myself ok that is the dumbest shit i ever heard.  
CG: WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING STUBBORN!?  
TG: oh yeah like youre one to talk  
TG: youre more stubborn than  
TG: uh  
TG: a mule  
CG: OHHHHHH, IT BUURRRRRNS!! THAT SICK BURN, DAVE, IT FUCKING **BURNS**!! GET ME SOME COLD FUCKING WATER BECAUSE MY FLESH IS ABOUT TO FUCKING MELT OFF MY BONES WITH HOW FUCKING *SICK* THAT *BURN* WAS.  
CG: NOT.  
TT: Alright, I think you both need to just calm the fuck down.  
TT: Yes, actually, I am pretty fucking busy at the moment, thanks for asking.   
TT: But in the interest of being a good brother and host I’ll come to the Midnight Hall and we can sort this out in person.   
TT: Okay?  
TG: sounds good to me  
CG: FINE.  
TT: Good.  
TT: Jesus fuck, guys.  
TT: I guess I can cross playing auspistice of my bucket list, not like it was ever fuckin’ on there in the first place.  
TG: uh  
CG: WHOA. *WHOA*.  
CG: THAT IS NOT WHAT THIS IS!  
CG: THAT IS  
CG: I JUST  
CG: UUGGGGHHH!!  
CG: IF DAVE AND I WERE EVER TO BE IN ANY QUADRANT IT WOULD NOT DEFINITELY NOT—  
CG: OH, WOW, LOOK AT THAT, THAT’S NOT WHAT THIS IS ABOUT!!!  
CG: JUST PLEASE COME AND TALK SOME FUCKING SENSE INTO YOUR BROTHER.  
TG: yo im right here you know  
TG: you were the one who invited me to the memo  
TG: impressive that you managed to set all this up so damn quick btw good job bro  
CG: FUCK YOU.  
carcinoGeneticist [CG] banned turntechGodhead [TG] from responding to memo.  
  
carcinoGeneticist [CG] closed memo.

 

When Dirk arrived at the Midnight Hall, he took one look at Dave, sighed, and drew his katana.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Karkat exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.

“Dave was right about temporal stability,” Dirk said. “The shades, the cut on his face. And those are the exact same clothes he was wearing.”

Karkat floundered for words, before apparently giving up and slumping back down against the wall, defeated. Honestly, Dave felt a _little_ guilty; the guy hadn’t done anything _wrong_ , he’d just been a bit overzealous in his well-intentioned attempts to keep Dave in good health—as was sort of his job, as Knightly partner.

Dave retrieved his own sword and shook out the stiffness that had started to creep into his limbs. A strange mixture of apprehension and anticipation rolled over him as he took a few deep breaths to prepare himself for one last sparring match. Dirk had looked ready from the second he’d pulled his sword, face blank and stance perfect. Now _this_ was going to be interesting.

“Alright,” said Dave. “Let’s do this.”

From the beginning, the match was… well, a little unbalanced. Dave had just fought seven consecutive strifes with Karkat, and was a little worse for wear. Meanwhile, Dirk was a fresh opponent, and was at his peak compared to Dave.

Karkat was quick, and Dave even more so. Dirk, meanwhile? The guy could flashstep three times consecutively and stay on balance enough to block a hit, _if_ somehow you’d managed to figure out where he’d end up. Dirk had patterns of attack that Dave had recognised and slowly grown used to, of course, but on the whole he was pretty unpredictable. Today of all days, the difference between fighting Karkat and fighting Dirk was more noticeable than ever.

Dave dodged around a jab from Dirk’s katana and aimed a low swipe at his waist. In a display of deceptive strength, Dirk skipped back just enough to block the hit, and in the same movement surged forward to deflect it, swinging Dave’s sword arm wide, which would have left him open to Dirk’s next swing towards his chest if he hadn’t utilised some fancy footwork of his own. He leapt backwards, once, twice, creating some space between them—and some space for Dave to catch his breath.

It was very quickly apparent that, in this match, Dave had no concentration to spare on Time bullshit. As soon as he realised it, the feeling grew stronger than ever—almost overwhelming, which, ironically, made it distracting. It made him so acutely aware of everything—the force of every deflected and blocked hit tingling up his arms; the sweat trickling down his spine and his temples, plastering his shirt to his torso and his hair to his forehead; every clang, step, and grunt echoing through the high-ceilinged hall; his grip on his sword, so tight on the sweat-sticky leather that his hand was beginning to cramp. He didn’t feel the aches and pains from the day’s previous spars, but was acutely aware of their absence, aware of the fact that that absence was due to the very chemical which was causing this _feeling_ which made him so _aware_ and yet for which he had no attention to spare.

He was flagging, and he knew it—his joints locking up at inopportune moments, his breathing breaking from its carefully controlled pattern and quickly becoming ragged. What’s more was that Dirk could tell he was waning, but rather than pushing his advantage started to pull his strikes, slow himself down.

And then it happened. The feeling, which had started off as strange, and quickly become uncomfortable, very suddenly became _painful_ —a knot, right in the centre of Dave’s chest, which knocked the air out of his lungs. He doubled over, winded for the second time that hour.

“Shit, you okay?” asked Dirk, having caught on quickly and stopped mid-strike, lowering his sword and bending to peer at Dave’s face. “I didn’t get you, did I?”

Dave shook his head as he struggled to even out his breathing. He could hear Karkat’s hurried footsteps approaching.

As quickly as it came, the pain disappeared, the knot loosening and disappearing. Dave straightened, his left hand still immovably gripped around his sword. He felt… off-balance, as though he were being buffeted by a current; as though he were standing chest-deep in water which flowed all around him… flowing _through_ him… flowing in one direction and one direction only.

He almost laughed as he realised it.

“Be right back,” he said, and imagined the water flowing in the opposite direction.

It obeyed him.

He expected it to be like watching a video rewinding, but it wasn’t, it was more instantaneous than that. Dirk (and Karkat, right at the edge of his peripheral vision) just weren’t there anymore, and the long table that usually adorned the room _was_ , with the councillors and the Prospitian delegate and his siblings all seated around it. Dave found himself standing a few feet behind what had been his usual chair—empty, due to the fact that the Dave who belonged  at this point in time was still being an ignorant, self-pitying tool.

“I suppose I could try messaging him again,” Rose was saying, sounding resigned and reluctant, and Dave instantly knew she was talking about him. “Though I doubt that would be of any use. Or we could send someone to his quarters to deliver an urgent message—”

“No need,” he said, interrupting her. He hadn’t necessarily _meant_ to, but the sooner this was over with the better—he could still feel the flow of time around him, flowing in its original direction once again, threatening to wash him away.

Everyone in the room turned and stared at him. Alright, that was… uncomfortable. Shit, though, it was so _cool_ to see Rose and Roxy and John again. His heart felt like it was being squeezed by how much he missed them.

Rose stood, looking awed and confused at the same time, which was kind of satisfying. “Dave?”

“’Sup,” said Dave. “When you tell past me about this, be sure to remind him how much of a tool he’s being.” But god damn it felt weird to refer to himself as if he were a different person from… himself. “By past me, I mean present me. I guess,” he added. Shit, this Time stuff was confusing.

Everyone just kept staring at him, including his siblings. He couldn’t help but notice how much… _healthier_ Dirk looked here. The Dirk he’d just left behind was worryingly pale and had even darker rings around his eyes—though he tried to cover it up by hardly ever taking his shades off anymore.

“Well… I vote in favour,” said Dave, maybe a little reluctantly, knowing the effect this status change would have on his brother. God damn, the things he did in order to maintain temporal stability. Fuck.

“Then that is the final vote,” said Kanaya, breaking the silence that everyone else in the room had meticulously maintained for some reason. “Prince Regent Dirk Strider will become Prince Monarch Dirk Strider.”

The table erupted in exclamations of assent and dissent—though Rose continued to stare at Dave, and from the look on Dirk’s face, you’d think he’d just been given a death sentence. In retrospect, this whole scene was decidedly depressing, regardless of whatever political progress it had resulted in.

For now, though, Dave had done what he needed to do. “That’s _that_ loop closed, then,” he sighed in relief. “Fucking finally.” He pushed his sweat-drenched hair out of his face, took one last look at Rose’s stunned expression, and let the current sweep him away.

The table faded, the feeling disappeared, and whatever energy he had left drained out of him. His sword slipped from his hand and his legs gave out. Dirk caught him by the shoulders and guided his collapse, wrapping an arm around him to keep him upright once it was apparent that Dave currently had all the strength of a butterfly in a hurricane.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dave hissed, eyes closed, ears ringing, head lolling on Dirk’s shoulder. Every ache and pain he’d accrued today was assailing him all at once, the back of his skull shouting and his spine yelling and his cheek keening. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and was aware of uncontrollable tremors running up and down his limbs. The worst, though, was his throbbing headache, so strong and so permeating that he wanted to vomit from the pain.

“Are you alright?” asked Karkat’s voice. Dave cracked an eye open to see the troll kneeling close by, the strangest mixture of emotions on his face—concern and bewilderment and frustration, and some other things that Dave didn’t currently have the mental faculties to name.

“No,” Dave croaked. “How long was I gone?”

“One or two minutes,” said Dirk, “Long enough to do what you needed to do, I assume.”

Dave nodded, eyes squeezed shut against the nauseating pulsing in his cranium. He flinched when he felt a cold hand touch the side of his forehead.

“Your head feels like a fucking furnace,” said Dirk.

Dave let out a groan of pain that was also sort of a laugh because, yeah, he bet it fucking well did. “I don’t feel good.”

“Surprise, sur-fucking-prise,” muttered Karkat, in a way that said _“I told you so_ ,” but also said _“I wish I weren’t so good at being right.”_

“Think you can stand?” asked Dirk.

“Fuck no,” Dave responded. “Just… this is fine. Let me just take a quick nap here.”

He felt more than heard Dirk’s sigh. “As much of a fraternal bonding experience as that would undoubtedly fuckin’ be,” he said, “I do actually need to get back to what I was doing at some point before midnight.”

Now it was Dave’s turn to sigh. “Always you with the working. Fine.” He couldn’t help thinking about how much more _alive_ the Dirk from a couple months ago had looked, but decided not to mention it. Not right now, anyway, when he literally couldn’t even stand on his own.

Dirk shifted to pull Dave’s arm over his shoulders, and Karkat wordlessly shuffled forward to get the other side. Honestly, Dave did _not_ like feeling like an invalid, but the feeling of having these two people who cared enough about him to help him out when he was in this state—a warmth in his chest, different from how it had felt to tap into Time’s flow, and completely aside from the sensation of cold sweat on his overheated skin—was pleasant enough to override it.

Pretty quickly, they got Dave on his feet—a bit shakily, his head hurting so horribly the whole room seemed to tremble with every throb from behind his eyes. He was leaning more of his weight on Dirk and Karkat than his dignity would have liked to admit.

“Sorry,” he couldn’t help from murmuring, breathing heavily, clenching his eyes shut. Even behind his shades, the light—not to mention the unwarranted movement—made him want to throw up.

Karkat just sighed gently. Dirk gave him a soft pat on the side of his ribs. “Maybe apologise to us _after_ we drag you up nineteen flights of stairs.”

Fuck.

“Why does this place not have any fucking elevators?” Karkat lamented.

TG: of course it fucking does dude this is about maintaining temporal stability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, it's been a while. Well, okay, no it hasn't, not really, but it kinda feels like it has. I didn't necessarily _intend_ to take a break from writing, but... I have a variety of excuses which I won't bother to list. Some of them are almost decent excuses! I guess I sorta lost motivation for a while there. Still haven't really got it back. I've also been a bit unwell the past few days. Still don't feel so great.
> 
> /says i wont give excuses  
> /does it anyway
> 
> In slightly less dismal news, in a 2am fit of inspiration I've ironed out all of the major plot points leading into the ending. It's how to get from point A (here) to point B (the beginning of the end) that I'm still unsure of. I think that might be another reason it's been harder to write recently. There are just so many reasons. So many.


	35. The State of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Roxy scoffed. “Um, excuse you, Miss Queenypants, but I am_ great _with my things, okay? It’s not my fuckin’ fault I’m being followed around by an interdimensional black hole taking all my shit.”_

Two months sober, but Roxy still found herself craving a drink every now and then. It _was_ harder for her to acquire alcohol here in Prospit, but if she really wanted to, she was certain she could find a way. Luckily, she wasn’t that desperate. She’d taken so many deliberate measures to stop herself from _getting_ that desperate.

She’d gotten Rose to teach her how to knit. She’d gotten back into programming, even if all she could manage to make were shitty little puzzle games. She’d bought a nice new journal and started writing some not-at-all planned-out story about wizards or some shit—she had no idea what was going on in it, she just sort of wrote whatever she felt like making the characters do at the time, which was fine, because it wasn’t like anyone was ever going to read it. She spent as much time with other people as she possibly could, and when all of her friends in Prospit didn’t have time for her, she would take to pesterchum.

Essentially, the key to staving off the cravings was to keep busy, because if she didn’t, the _horrible, dark emptiness_ would come rushing back in and Roxy would find herself at a loss as to how to rid herself of it. Other than getting hammered, that is, and that just wasn’t an option anymore. She refused to let it be an option.

But oh boy, sometimes it was fucking _hard._

This morning she had a tea and cakes date with the Queen of Prospit herself, who was (not to brag or anything) Roxy’s own _biffle for liffle,_ Jane Crocker. She was late, because she couldn’t find her circlet. Ordinarily she would have messaged Jane to let her know she was going to be late, but, again: she couldn’t find her circlet. It was kind of a whole big deal.

“Why did I not bring more computers from home?” Roxy muttered to herself as she skipped up the stairs towards Jane’s lavish queenly rooms, circlet-less. She’d had to give up tearing her own modest quarters apart looking for it at some point. She was late, yeah, but better to be late than to not show at all.

Although, she wouldn’t have given up if she thought she had any hope of finding it.

“Honestly, Roxy, I thought you were better with your things than this,” was Jane’s response when Roxy, a little out of breath from running up several flights of stairs, had explained her tardiness.

Roxy scoffed. “Um, excuse you, Miss Queenypants, but I am _great_ with my things, okay? It’s not my fuckin’ fault I’m being followed around by an interdimensional black hole taking all my shit.” She sighed, following Jane out onto the balcony overlooking the city, which glowed a pleasant rosy-gold in the wintery morning light. Prospit wasn’t anywhere _near_ as cold as Derse at this time of year, and while it was kind of a nice change, Roxy had to admit that she missed the snow a little—it didn’t feel _right_ to have winter without snow.

They sat down at the perfectly-lain little table. Jane’s favourite floral bone china tea set sat upon the pristine lace tablecloth beside the four-tier cupcake stand, which was adorned with all manner of little cakes. Roxy was partial to the champagne cupcakes, partly to prove to herself that she could enjoy the taste of something that was once alcoholic without… well, the alcohol part. Without then _craving_ something alcoholic. It was a powerful feeling, and she _needed_ that sort of thing.

“For the last time, Roxy: I doubt there’s anything suspicious going on here, interdimensional black hole or otherwise,” said Jane as she poured the tea. “Sugar? Milk?”

“ _Obviously_ sugar. Think I’ll go milk-less today, though. Jane, come on. I _never_ used to lose my stuff, especially my circlet!” Roxy insisted. “Even when I would get blackout drunk every night and then think I’d lost it the next morning, I hadn’t actually ever lost it because usually it was still on my fuckin’ head.”

Jane shot her a shrewd look as she stirred sugar into their respective teacups with a tiny silver teaspoon. “I still think you’re jumping to conclusions here. Consider this: you’re in a less familiar environment and still in recovery from mental/emotional and physical substance dependency, so it’s perfectly natural for you to be a little disoriented and out of place, which would very plausibly lead you to leaving things in places they shouldn’t be—even your beloved circlet.”

“ _Janey._ It’s been over two months, I know my way around here by now, okay? Why can’t you just believe me when I tell you there’s an interdimensional black hole following me around, eating my prized possessions?” Roxy took a sip of tea, making sure to keep her pinky stuck _straight_ out, more erect than a god damn… uh… lightning rod. Yep, that was _definitely_ the first thing that came to Roxy’s mind when she thought of things that were so totally erect. Definitely. Anyway. The tea was a little too hot, since she’d opted out of milk, but the sugar to tea ratio was spot-on.

“I’m sorry, Roxy, but I just find it a little far-fetched, is all,” Jane said as she spread a generous helping of jam onto a lemonade scone.

“I know you do,” Roxy sighed. “You _always_ find things far-fetched. Like, oh, I don’t know, the idea that you might have some sort of special powers or something? Remember _that_ whole debacle, Maid of Life?”

Jane frowned, adding a hefty dollop of cream to the scone. “Point taken, but even so. There’s a fairly wide margin of difference between coming to accept my hero title and believing that there’s an interdimensional black hole following you around because you keep misplacing your belongings.”

“Jane. Come on.”

“What? Roxy, _you_ come on. If there really were an interdimensional wormhole in the palace, it makes no sense that it would only target one person. Why has no one else been complaining of mysteriously absent possessions?”

Roxy forewent the tiny knives and cream bullshit and went straight to the chase on a champagne cupcake, which was so lathered in buttercream frosting that any further condimental augmentation would just be overkill, anyway. She used the time it took to chew and swallow the delicious as fuck sweet treat to think over her next response. She had to admit: Jane _sort of_ had a point.

“Interdimensional black hole is a pretty strange conclusion to jump to, don’t you think?” Jane continued before Roxy had the chance, taking a dainty bite out of her cream-and-jam with scone.

“Ugh. Maybe, yeah, I guess! I don’t know, Jane, I just have the feeling there’s some sort of spooky funny business going on here. Can you at least take my word on that?” Admittedly, it wasn’t just a _feeling_ she had. She also had some hints from… an anonymous source whom she couldn’t tell anyone about yet. Which totally added to her credibility as a completely sane and forward-thinking gal.

Jane scrunched up her lips into a sceptical closed-mouth grimace, one which said _I’m trying to believe you but this proverbial stick up my butt won’t let me_. “Alright. If you think there’s something strange going on, then I believe you.”

She totally didn’t, Roxy could tell. But she appreciated the sentiment. “ _Thank_ you. Now, onto the important part: may I borrow one of your many, many royal computing devices for the time being?”

“Of course you can, you don’t even have to ask.” She had a spot of cream on her chin. Roxy tapped the spot on her own chin with a wink and Jane sheepishly swiped it away with her napkin. Aww, what a silly queenly biffle Roxy had.

“Love you,” Roxy sang, taking another sip from her tea. Still too hot. She could no longer feel her tongue. RIP tongue.

“I know you do. Any updates on the underground situation? I’ve been meaning to check in with Rose or Kanaya but I’ve been so busy I’ve hardly had the chance.” Jane finished off her scone and frowned down at a tiny chip in the gold leafing on her plate.

Roxy shrugged, picking at her cupcake. The bottom parts of muffins or cupcakes was always so boring. “Dunno, they’ve been pretty damn secretive about it. Last time Rose deigned me worthy of imparting the secret infos unto, she told me that they’d at least confirmed the presence of a very powerful entity and/or object at the heart of the tunnels. So, I guess once they blow through a few more rock walls and solve a few more puzzles, maybe they’ll reach it?”

Jane looked up, still frowning. “I’m not sure how I feel about there being a ‘very powerful entity and/or object’ miles underneath my city.”

“Well. Supposedly it’s been there since well before any of us were even thought of, and it hasn’t had any overt negative effect that we know of, so is there _really_ a difference between how it was with you not knowing about it versus how it is knowing about it?”

Jane blinked, her eyebrows twitching inwards the slightest bit. “Yes. I believe it makes a difference precisely _because_ we don’t know what effect it may or may not have been having on the city and the kingdom for all this time.”

Roxy grimaced. “Good point. But supposedly there’s a matching one under Derse, so whatever effect has been had here has been had in Derse, too.”

“Meaning there’s no real way to _know_ of any potential effects as of now—I believe a scientific experiment of such a calibre would require a control group, which, regrettably, we don’t have.”

“Exactly. But what if…” Roxy folded her arms on the edge of the table. “What if whatever potential _effect_ is a positive one? What if taking it away would do more harm than good?”

“What sort of effect could that be?” Jane’s eyes narrowed minutely behind her glasses. “I’m asking under the assumption that you have something specific in mind.”

Roxy felt the corner of her mouth twitch into a brief smirk. Jane knew her too well. “Supposedly these moons are super powerful, right? What if they’re not just power _ful_ , but… a power _source_.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a theory out of nowhere, based on nothing—” that wasn’t entirely true, but it was best if no one knew about that “—but… they symbolise light and dark. Or, in aspect terms, Light and Void, yeah?”

“I think I might see where you’re going with this.”

“What if the moons are the _source_ of aspect powers?” Roxy finished.

Jane, having leaned forwards as their conversation grew more intense, straightened in her seat, lifting her chin and looking up to the sky as she thought. After a small pause, she nodded. “Perhaps, but only if you abide by the theory that all other aspects spring from the two poles of light and darkness. And I might remind you how thoroughly discredited that theory has been, largely due to the existentially pivotal natures of Space and Time.”

“Well… yeah.” Roxy looked down at the table, the tea and cakes having gone untouched since the topic of the moons had come up. The tea was probably cold by now. “I guess that’s true, but I was sorta more thinking about how Light and Void are the most accurate symbols of polarisation between the aspects. Light and Void, Space and Time, Life and Doom, uh… I forget the others.”

“Breath and Blood, Heart and Mind, Hope and Rage,” Jane finished, taking another sip of her tea. By the brief look that crossed her face, Roxy knew: the tea had definitely gone cold. “I still don’t know, Roxy. I think it’s subjective which pairing, if any, is the most accurate representation of the rest. An argument could easily be made about Life and Doom, for example.”

“Okay, fine,” Roxy sighed. She couldn’t really press the point without giving away too much of what she had sworn not to speak of. “I’m just saying. We won’t know if the moon thing is good or bad or neither until Rose and Kanaya find it and… I don’t know, study it, I guess. Figure out what its deal is.”

Jane nodded curtly. “This is true. I can see where your thinking came from, concerning the aspects.”

Roxy’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yes. There have been some… strange occurrences around the city and the palace, with increasing frequency.”

Roxy made sure to lower her eyebrows in a casual manner. False alarm. “Like what?”

“Well, this funny business with your belongings disappearing, for one. Me discovering my burgeoning aspect powers within such a short time, for two. Jade’s been having her funny dreams again, and it’s been dreadfully windy—but only when John’s around—and Jake…” Jane’s expression very suddenly turned bitter. “Well, Jake’s Jake, I suppose. Like always.”

Roxy frowned. “Have you… talked to him recently?”

“Who, Jake?” Jane scoffed and busied herself piling cream onto another scone. “No, of course not. Have you?”

Well, that was a trap if Roxy had ever heard one. “Nope.” She wasn’t lying, either—the dude had made himself _scarce_ lately.

Jane let out a pent-up sigh. “So typical. I just knew there was something off about how vehemently he denied it when I asked him if he’d fallen for some Dersian blue blood.” Oh dear. “How am I supposed to appear even remotely appealing up against the inverted epitome of his blue-lady fantasies?” _Oh dear._

“Uh…” This conversation had come up at least five times in the past month alone and Roxy still didn’t quite know how to deal with it. It was like replaying a dating simulation game over and over again and trying to choose the right conversation prompts to get the best ending, except there were no pre-programmed options; Roxy just had to come up with something new _all by herself_ every time. It was fucking exhausting, especially considering how torn she was between familial and friendly loyalties. Why couldn’t she have both? “God dammit.” Maybe she could. “Janey…” She didn’t have to say _everything…_ “I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but in the interest of our friendship, I will bite down on this bullet so fuckin’ hard I’ll be tasting lead for months, Jane, _months_. Let’s please just ignore the fact that lead is, like, the deadly nightshade of metals, because hell, I am so totally going to tell you this thing.”

Jane’s eyes narrowed with a combination of caution and suspicion. “Tell me what, Roxy?”

“Um. Well.” Now she wished she could back out, but real life didn’t have checkpoints. Heck, most dating sims didn’t have checkpoints unless you were anal enough to make a new save file before every dialogue option. “Have you ever considered that a particular… _aspect_ of what might make… someone like you Jake’s, uh, _type_ may not be exclusive to that aspect? As in… if that aspect were one of a pair, and often people’s type only includes one of those aspects, but some people are into _both_ aspects. You know?”

“…No?” Now Jane just looked confused. This was harder than it should have been. “Roxy, what are you talking about?”

Alright, okay. Fine. Time to _really_ bite the bullet. “Jane,” Roxy sighed. “Did it ever cross your mind that it wasn’t a lady Jake fell for in Derse?”

“Of course I have,” Jane said earnestly. Phew, that made things easier. “It’s just…” she continued, “I didn’t want to think that there was no solid _reasoning_ behind the dissolution of mine and Jake’s engagement.” God dammit. “Like somehow he only ended it because he’d rather be alone than be with me. Which makes me wonder if I did something wrong, like… I didn’t listen to him enough, or I put him off in some other way, I don’t know! The idea that there was some other girl involved is so much easier to face than… than _that._ ”

Oh _no._ Now Jane just looked so insanely hurt and sad, her cream-saturated scone half-eaten and abandoned on its cute little plate. Roxy reached across the table and clasped her hand around Jane’s. “Janey, there is _nothing_ wrong with you. You didn’t do anything wrong, and any man would be lucky as all fucking hell to get to marry you—and not because you’re the queen, but because you’re Jane fucking Crocker, and you kick _ass._ Shit, I’d marry you myself.”

Jane gave her a slightly watery smile. “Thank you, Roxy. I just… can’t get my head around it.”

Ah, fuck it. Clearly the underhanded approach wasn’t working. Roxy retracted her hand. “Dudes, Jane,” she said bluntly. “He’s into dudes.”

“He—What?”

“Well, at least one dude,” Roxy amended. She let out a frustrated groan. “ _Please_ understand that this is as hard for me to tell you this as it is for you to hear it.”

Jane cleared her throat and straightened once again, her posture having melted during her moment of… emotional vulnerability. “I… certainly didn’t expect _that_ to be the reason.”

“I mean… it can’t be _too_ much of a surprise.”

Jane gave Roxy her coldest, most queenly look. Wait, did she say that out loud? Shit, she said that out loud.

“So… ‘one dude,’” Jane said, as if Roxy hadn’t said anything. Maybe she hadn’t said anything after all. There was no way to know, now that the moment was lost to time. Where was Dave when you needed him?

“Huh?” Roxy replied articulately.

“You said that Jake is into ‘at least one dude.’”

“Oh.” She had indeed said that. Good thing Jane’s ears were still in working order, that was probably pretty handy. “Uh. Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Do I happen to know this gentleman?”

Roxy bit her lip. Reply or no reply, it didn’t really matter at this stage. Boy, it would have been great if Jane had been this perceptive a little earlier, with all those glaringly obvious hints Roxy was dropping.

Jane nodded, as if the silence had been as eloquent as Roxy suspected. “Right, then.”

“Sorry, Janey,” Roxy whined. “It’s not his fault. He’s really had a thing for Jake for a while, and—”

“It’s fine,” Jane interrupted. “I don’t blame Dirk. It’s… ill luck, is all. For both of us.” She sighed. “I just wish Jake were willing to _talk_.”

“Yeah,” Roxy agreed. “Me, too.”

 

\-- uranianUmbra [UU] began cheering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--  
  
UU: hello there, roxy. ^u^  
UU: did yoU have a nice morning tea?  
TG: oh totes yea  
TG: twas the best tea and cakes frienddate in all the kingdoms  
TG: of which there are only 2  
TG: but still  
UU: i am glad to hear that!  
TG: hbu  
UU: me?  
UU: well... where i am from, there is no sUch thing as morning tea! u_u  
UU: there is no sUch thing as tea, or cakes, or even mornings, in fact...  
TG: well god damn princess that is the saddest fuckn thing ive heard all mornin  
TG: and OHHH BOOYYY ive just been thru the motional ringer  
TG: e motional that is  
TG: as in  
TG: electronics n movement  
TG: nah jk it was jus janey bein sad about jakey again :(  
UU: oh dear...  
UU: well, i am sUre yoU did yoUr best to console her.  
TG: aw yeah you bet i did  
TG: it is i   
TG: roxy lonlode  
TG: master consoler  
TG: no one shall remain sad in the wake of my....... super friendly HUG ATTACKS!!  
UU: oh, no! not the hUg attacks!  
UU: i was simply trying to be sad, bUt... in the great face of yoUr positively joyoUs hUg, i find there is nothing left within my soUl bUt pleasant feelings of friendship and love!  
TG: yeh!!!!  
TG: thats fuckin right  
TG: no ones allowed to b sad in my presents  
UU: Um... presence?  
TG: no  
TG: presents  
UU: ok then! :u  
UU: anyway, i’m not sUre why i decided that sUch tomfoolery was a good idea, becaUse i don’t know if i will be able to maintain my connection for very long today.  
TG: damn gurl youre always havgin net problems  
TG: do you need me to hack your isp to give you more bandwidth?? is that the problem???  
UU: Um... no. i'm not even sUre what an ‘isp’ is, bUt i can assUre yoU that it isn’t the issUe.  
UU: it’s mUch more of a... cosmic issUe.  
UU: bUt it’s not important right now!   
UU: yoU always have sUch a way with getting me so madly off coUrse from my intentions for oUr conversations. :U  
TG: oopsie sry  
UU: it’s alright. actUally, i rather enjoy the contigUoUs divergences in oUr discoUrse.  
UU: sometimes i enjoy myself so mUch that it is hard for me to bring the conversation back aroUnd to its intended topic. :u  
UU: in any case, today i am merely asking for a qUick Update as to the state of things on yoUr side.  
TG: the state of things huh  
UU: yes.  
UU: i'm sorry if i led yoU to believe i had something more sUbstantial to divUlge, bUt i really don’t think my connection is stable enoUgh for more than a brief check-in. u_u;  
TG: hm ok so the strange alien chickadee from an advanced civilisation doesnt even have stable internet  
TG: there is truly no hope for the rest of us  
UU: i have never said my civilisation is advanced!  
UU: qUite the opposite, in fact. it’s not even really a civilisation at all...  
UU: i promise that one day i will tell yoU everything yoU wish to know, everything yoU need to know, and answer any additional qUestions yoU have aboUt me, bUt that time has, regrettably, not yet come.   
UU: in fact, for me it may well be eons before that time comes, bUt for yoU it coUld be as little as a month, or a week.   
UU: that is all the information i am willing to give for now, and yoU may draw yoUr conclUsions as yoU will.  
UU: at the present moment, there is bUt one thing i need from yoU.  
TG: hmmmmmmmm  
TG: ok gotcha  
TG: no more diverting the subejct  
TG: WELL  
TG: to add to the string of roxys thigns that keep disappearing  
TG: today was the fated dya i lost muy cicrlet  
TG: see how upset i am about it? typos!!  
UU: yoU make qUite the nUmber of typos ordinarily. :U  
TG: yeah ok yes i know its a harmelss habit that i cant seemt o shake borne from a more harmful habit which i have moooostly succeeded in shaking the fuck off  
TG: but anyway yeah theres that and it really fuckn sucks  
TG: i mean all of janes spare computers are kickass but still  
TG: that circlet is more than just a fancy tiara OR a computer  
TG: it was my first super ambitious coding project that actually didnt turn out to be poop  
TG: so im pretty fuckin bummed about not havn it anymore  
TG: and i dont think it would be so bad if i werent certain its been eaten by an interdminensional black hole followin me around  
TG: but  
TG: i guess its not so bad knowing its in good hands  
TG: which i spose restores it to like  
TG: a normal level of bad  
UU: ...  
UU: i’m taking good care of it.  
UU: the best i can, at least. i'm no whiz with compUters, certainly not like yoU!  
TG: aww  
TG: i guess its worth it since its made it possible for us to have these super aesome chit chats  
UU: to every negative there is a positive. ^u^  
TG: and hey maybe someday we will meet and ill get to give u one of my hug attacks and you can return my circlet to me safe n sound and itll be fuckin beautiful  
UU: hm...  
UU: i wish i coUld be as optimistic aboUt sUch a happening as yoU are, bUt i am afraid that even if that did somehow, by some impossibly well-shaped stroke of lUck, happen to occUr, yoU woUld likely not be as keen to lavish me with one of yoUr patented hUg attacks as yoU may believe, jUst from oUr text-based acqUaintanceship.  
TG: *friendship  
UU: what?  
TG: were friends dummy!  
TG: wait wait  
TG: *dUmmy ;)  
UU: !!  
UU: u//u  
TG: anyway im preeeeetty certain youre totes fuckin wrong about that but ok surreeee if we ever meet i will make sure to run away screaming just so you can have the satisfaction of being right and then do a big loop and come right back around n hug attack you right in the face  
TG: assuming you have a face  
TG: pls confirm  
TG: do u have a face  
UU: of coUrse i have a face! :U  
TG: ok good jus checkin  
TG: anyway back ot the check in seargrant  
TG: *sergeant  
TG: *that was less of a typo and more of a wow this word is fuckin hard to spell  
TG: the moon is still yet to be revealed  
TG: there was an earthquake like a year ago that smashed up some of the tunnels so not only is there the hassle of clearin em out but theres all sorts of health & safety stuff they gotta go through   
TG: to make sure no one dies  
TG: but its even further complicated by the fact that there are like all these ancient puzzles supposed to protect the thing  
TG: i guess theyre doing their job??  
TG: but none of them have been too difficult or too deadly yet and some of them are straight up broken and dont work even once the solution is found so theyre more of an annoyance than anything  
TG: rose is suuuuper antsy about it  
TG: she seems to think theres a time limit and hell maybe shes right idfk im not the seer here  
TG: but the closer they get the more weird shit happens  
TG: other people are starting to notice too  
TG: especially the people affected by it  
TG: actually  
TG: it kinda seems like jake is the only one in the palace NOT affected by it but... no ones really seen hide or hair of him in the last few weeks  
TG: im actually a little worried  
TG: no fuckin clue what his problem is of course maybe he just feels guilty idk  
TG: there... are a lot of things idk  
TG: for example  
TG: idk why theres a black hoel followin me around takin all my shit  
TG: sendin it to you apparently????  
TG: or at least some of it  
TG: is it YOUR doing???  
UU: no of coUrse not!!  
UU: i woUld never!  
TG: hehe i know i was just pullin ur leg  
TG: you do have legs right  
TG: pls confirm  
TG: do u have legs  
UU: yes i have legs!!!! :U  
TG: ok cool legs are cool i like legs  
TG: roses kanaya has a pretty hot pair a legs  
TG: then again  
TG: so do i ;););)  
UU: i'm sUre yoU do, bUt UnfortUnately i have no frame of reference. :u  
TG: good answer  
UU: anyway, i am very sorry to hear aboUt yoUr personal troUbles with yoUr friend, and also aboUt the troUbles yoUr sister is encoUntering in trying to Uncover the moon of prospit.  
UU: however, she is qUite right in her assUmption that time is of the essence.  
UU: time is always valUable, of coUrse, especially in a realm sUch as yoUrs wherein it flows Unerringly and seqUentially for all except those with the power to manipUlate it or at least manipUlate their positioning in relation to it, bUt in this particUlar sitUation, the sooner the moon is reached the better.  
TG: gotcha  
TG: i will attempt to convey this super imports messege in as totes subtle a way as humanly or trollly possible  
UU: good lUck! ^u^  
TG: why thank u!  
UU: on that note, i believe it is my cUe to say goodbye for now.  
TG: awwwww  
TG: will you at least tell me ur name this time??  
TG: its so lame tryin to come up with a cute nickame from your.... cheerhandle or whatever  
TG: my brain keeps defaulting to urine which is just  
TG: no  
UU: oh, Um. UnfortUnately i still cannot tell yoU my name. u_u  
UU: yoU see, i haven’t told yoU this, bUt i'm sUre yoU’re aware of the power words — particUlarly names — can hold.   
UU: for me, in the place and the sitUation i am in, to speak, type, or even think too mUch aboUt my name woUld be an invocation of chaos. the closest analogy is that it woUld be mUch like lighting a signal fire.  
UU: except rather than alerting comrades as to my positioning, it woUld attract qUite the opposing calibre of beings.  
TG: wow holy shit  
TG: is ur name like  
TG: a magic spell  
UU: no... i jUst have rather UniqUe circUmstances.  
UU: i have had to retrain how i think of myself, which was simUltaneoUsly very difficUlt and perhaps not so difficUlt, given that i was the one to name myself in the first place.  
UU: from a sort of... root, i sUppose yoU coUld say. a specific prefix planted in my mind long before my self-awareness began to blossom.  
TG: uhhhh  
TG: wow  
UU: i'm afraid that even my new moniker still contains this prefix and is still too similar to my original name, so i can only Use it sparingly.  
UU: i think, in instances sUch as this, it is ok.  
UU: yoU may think of me as callie, bUt please do not repeat even this name anywhere bUt in yoUr own mind. u_u;  
TG: :o  
TG: ok may i just say tho  
TG: das a real pretty name right there  
TG: and im sure whatever your real/full name is is even prettier  
UU: oh, roxy, yoU are too nice. :U  
UU: if i'm not carefUl, sUch flattery may involUntarily sUmmon my trUe name to my thoUghts.  
TG: oh shit sorry  
UU: it’s qUite alright. ^u^  
UU: in any case, i really shoUld go now.  
UU: my connection has held Up for longer than i expected it to, bUt i...  
UU: well, i have to go.  
TG: aww ok  
TG: nice talking to you as always!!  
TG: looking forward to our next convo <3  
TG: an i really hope it wont be eons away for u <3  
UU: ^u^  
UU: toodle-oo!  
  
\-- uranianUmbra [UU] ceased cheering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \-- 

TG: the state of things huh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I had trouble with and the reason why last chapter was so late. Wellllll... part of the reason. And then I randomly wrote more than half of the chapter in one sitting, as well as most of next chapter, and _everything was fine again._ Sigh.
> 
> But anyway, heeere it is. Next chapter, we're back in Derse. There may or may not be a pattern going on here. How long will it last? Who knows. Who. Even. Knows.


	36. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Elastic could only stretch so far; paper could only fold so many times; an orange could only be chopped into so many pieces. Everything was finite. Dirk felt increasingly finite as the weeks wore on. Whenever things weren’t getting worse, they definitely weren’t getting better._

“Nothing? Not even a _clue_?”

The messenger flinched. “N-no, your highness. W-we still have nothing to go on, and this winter has seen some of the heaviest snowfalls in decades, in all regions!”

Dirk sighed, closing his eyes and trying to remind himself that yelling at the messengers wasn’t going to achieve anything. Quite the opposite, in fact—he was going to have to tip this messenger quite generously to make up for snapping at them, partially as an apology and partially as a bribe for their silence regarding this… incident. To prevent the spread of unsavoury rumours regarding Dirk’s temper, or his mental health, or anything of the same calibre that was really no one’s business but his own—and certainly not the business of the press, who’d had a _field day_ when it first got out that search parties were being sent to find the King. They would just _love_ to hear that the search was, one: thus far unsuccessful, and two: putting Dirk in a dark mood, by virtue of aforementioned non-existent success.

To be honest, part of Dirk couldn’t help but feel relieved that they hadn’t found anything. Another part of him was frustrated, of course, because it was something he wanted to put a lid on, one way or another. Was the King dead or alive? No one knew—literally _no one_ , and Dirk hated not knowing things.

Other parts of him were preoccupied by further problems. One part by issues of the state, and all the issues that came with ruling with not-quite-absolute power. This included everything going on up at Skaia. A positive side effect of the truce had been weekly reports of the goings-on on the battlefield. This didn’t mean that anything on Derse’s side had actually improved regarding communication, just that he was now getting the same reports as Prospit. They were efficient enough, given that a new headquarters had been established and the two battle commanders were now working in tandem against the ongoing attacks from the horrorterrors—the attacks, which, in the past couple of months, had had grown fiercer and more frequent. Revoking the law which turned convicts into unwilling soldiers had resulted in a significantly reduced number of new recruits on the battlefield, at least on the Dersian side. The decreased number of new faces combined with the increased number of losses was, in laymen’s terms, bad fucking news.

Another part of Dirk was concerned with keeping tabs on the goings-on in the palace, specifically his brother and last remaining Prospitian guest. Sparring matches with those two were the only times when Dirk didn’t feel like he was being pulled in seventeen thousand fucking directions, and seriously at risk of coming apart. Elastic could only stretch so far; paper could only fold so many times; an orange could only be chopped into so many pieces. Everything was finite. Dirk felt increasingly finite as the weeks wore on. Whenever things weren’t getting worse, they definitely weren’t getting better.

The final and most tender, painful-to-the-touch part of Dirk was, predictably, unable to stop thinking about Jake for _one damn second_. It was infuriating, and he was infuriated at himself because he was supposed to be better than this—he was supposed to be the stone cold motherfucker who didn’t let anything get in the way of doing what needed to be done, least of all his emotions. And yet… there that part of him was, like a constant headache.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Jake would just answer his messages. Let Dirk know he hadn’t just fucking imagined everything that had happened, in this room, on the balcony and by the door; on the balcony of the King’s drawing room; behind this very desk that Dirk stood behind now, palms flat on papers strewn across the mahogany surface. Dossiers, reports, legislation drafts, unfinished letters—there were always letters to be written, mostly to the heads of Derse’s noble houses, practically _begging_ them to contribute funds to aid in the war effort whilst trying not to let on that the palace’s own coffers were running alarmingly dry. The inevitable alternative was to increase or redistribute taxes, which, though inevitable during times such as these, was unlikely to make Dirk very popular.

“Thank you,” Dirk said quietly, looking away from the messenger to slide open one of the desk’s drawers. From within he extracted an envelope, fat with its contents—funds put aside specifically for messengers. He’d decided it was worth the small investment, since he seemed to be receiving and utilising a prodigious number of messengers as of late, and more and more he found himself feeling obligated to give them generous tips. He extracted three fifties from within the envelope and held them out to the messenger. That ought to be enough.

Eyes wide, the messenger took the cash with a shaking hand. “Th-thank you, si—I mean, your Highness.”

Dirk nodded tightly. The messenger bowed once, then hurried out the door.

Now that that was over with, Dirk had work to do. First of all, he needed to send an e-letter to Skaia, requesting a scouting party be put together to scour the battleground for any sign of the King. It was a little far-fetched, perhaps, but it was worth exploring every avenue. Which included Prospitian lands—he made a mental note to message Jane later. What time was it, anyway? He glanced towards the window. The sky was a murky, rapidly-darkening grey. Later than he thought.

To top everything off, stress and work weren’t the only things preventing Dirk from getting any rest. Even on the rare occasions that he managed to get his thoughts to shut the fuck up enough to let him sleep, his unconscious mind continued to assault him with strange and downright disturbing dreams. Nightmares, really—but never of anything in particular, and never anything he could remember in much detail.

Except for one nightmare, which he remembered with disturbing fidelity. In the dream, he was standing on the drawing room’s impressive balcony, the wind howling all around him, watching the city below become engulfed by blood-red flames. Within the flames he could see faces, twisted expressions of pure agony; the agony of his city as it burned.

In the dream, he watched. He watched his kingdom die, and he felt nothing. He turned to behold the blood-covered balcony, and in the shadows of the unlit drawing room he could see the outlines of slumped figures. So many of them… crumpled, piled upon one another, unmoving; dead. He stepped towards them, the blood squelching wetly under his shoes, and one by one their faces came into focus. He recognised his family (Roxy—eyes wide and glazed, fear and pain affixed on her ghostly pale face) and friends (Jake—tear tracks still wet on his cheeks, glassy eyes oozing with betrayal; accusation). He fell to his knees, and watched as flakes of charcoal and splinters of wood fluttered down onto the bloody floor, as if to cover the overwhelming evidence of _what he had done_. He raised a hand in front of his face to see that it was wooden, burned, rotten, and slowly flaking apart.

That was when he’d woken up, in the static darkness of his quarters, tangled in his sheets with his hair and clothes plastered to his skin by rapidly cooling sweat. That was the one nightmare of many that Dirk could remember, and he was pretty fucking sure it was the most disturbing of the lot. He couldn’t get the image of everyone he even slightly cared about dead and broken on the floor, contributing to the great pool on the balcony that dripped off the edge and fuelled the hellish red flames consuming the city below. The worst part was how, despite how awful the scene was, the him from the dream hadn’t felt _anything_. No guilt, no grief, no fear. Just a great, unfeeling void within his hollow wooden chest.

Dirk sighed and tugged the curtains closed, concealing the restless grey ocean. It didn’t matter what time it was. Not when there was work to be done.

Dirk turned on the lights and had just sat back down at his desk to finish the letter he was working on when the door creaked open. Dave slipped in, offering a tiny nod before nonchalantly planting himself on Dirk’s largely unused couch.

“How come you get the nice couches?” he questioned. “Mine are fuckin’ leather. Don’t get me wrong, they look sick, but leather’s not all that comfortable. It’s either too slippery or too sticky, there’s no in-between. It’s _cold_ , too. Whatever they put on it to make it all shiny and slippery or whatever doesn’t retain heat very well.”

Dirk watched silently as Dave ranted. He was still wearing his cracked shades—of course he was, because he was stubborn in the strangest ways—but the cut across his cheek had faded to nothing. Which was impressive, since it had barely been a week since he’d acquired it. In fact, the cut had looked a week old after only a couple of days. Dirk supposed that there was some sort of Time trickery going on.

“Did you need something?” Dirk asked a couple seconds after Dave had finished his rant. About couches. He was a strange kid.

Dave frowned minutely. “Is it such a fucking crime to take the trip all the way down the hall to come talk to my brother?”

“No, but… I’m a little busy.”

“You’re _always_ busy.”

“Yeah, well. It’s all in the job description.”

After a few seconds of silence, Dave sighed. “You know,” he began, “last week, when I went back in time to that meeting? You have no clue how fucking tempted I was to vote against the whole promotion thing. If not for how terrified I am of fucking with temporal inevitabilities, I might have.”

Whoa, okay, this was news to Dirk. “Why?” he demanded.

“Do I really have to _explain_ why? Are there no mirrors in this room?” Dave made an exaggerated show of looking around for a mirror. “Oh, shit, there really are no mirrors. Well, I’m pretty fucking sure there’s at _least_ one mirror in your bathroom, since you still manage to do your hair every day—explain that to me, by the way. Why the fuck do you give your hair more attention than, oh, I don’t know, sleeping, maybe? Or eating, probably.”

Dirk very nearly rolled his eyes. “I already told you: job description.”

He really must have been tired, because in the time it took to blink Dave was suddenly standing in front of the desk, leaning over it, towering over Dirk. “Is it in your ‘job description’ to slowly fucking kill yourself?” Dave spat, and then recoiled, slapping a hand to his forehead. “Aw, _fuck_ , now I know how you and Rose and Roxy and everyone else must have felt when _I_ decided to be a massive tool after my first encounter with a dead alt-Dave.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Dirk said calmly. He wasn’t lying, not quite.

Dave put his guilty thoughts into words. “No, you’re right, it’s not—I was a blatantly self-destructive asshole for a few _days._ You’ve been like this for fucking _weeks_ now.” Dave’s shoulders slumped. “And I don’t have Rose and Roxy behind me to help slap some sense into you, and fuck if I know how to handle this shit.”

Dirk stood, sighing. “You don’t need to slap sense into me,” he said softly.

“Don’t I?”

“No. Look, I know I look like shit, alright? You don’t need to tell me. I’m not trying to hide anything—not from you, at least, because I know I can’t.”

Dave’s expression didn’t change, at least not from what Dirk could see. The shades really were annoying sometimes, for gauging reactions, so as a show of solidarity, Dirk slid his own shades off his face. He took his time folding them and setting them down on the desk. After a moment, Dave did the same, squinting slightly against the artificial lighting. He didn’t look as terrible as Dirk knew _he_ did, but there were still notable bruise-like bags under his eyes. As Dirk had suspected.

“It’s complicated,” Dirk continued. “Please don’t make it even fuckin’ worse by being pissed off at me.”

“When _isn’t_ it complicated?” Dave rejoined pretty much immediately. “I’m not pissed off at you. I’m… worried about you.”

“Yeah. Same back at you.”

Dave looked genuinely surprised. “What, you’re worried about me? Why?”

“Are you fucking kidding? After that little display last week?”

“That was _one time_. And I felt completely fine the next day.”

“One time, right. From what Karkat tells me, that sort of thing has happened more than _once_.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t listen to what _Karkat_ says, the guy over-exaggerates fucking everything.”

“Aradia periodically updates me on the progress both of you have been making.”

Dave had no reply to that.

“Earlier, you said that the chandelier incident was your _first_ encounter with a dead alt-Dave.” Dirk pointed out. “Your words exactly.”

Dave broke eye contact. “How did this become about me all of a sudden?”

Dirk shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess we haven’t talked properly in a while.”

Dave scoffed. “I guess we haven’t.” He turned and crossed back to the couch, throwing himself down at one end and crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“You wanna talk about it, then?” Dirk asked.

“Not really,” Dave replied. “ _You_ wanna talk about any of the supposedly complicated things keeping you from getting any decent beauty sleep?”

“Fuck no.”

“Well, look at that, we solved the mystery as to why we never talk properly: neither of us are capable of emotional expression that isn’t in some way veiled in irony or blanketed by non-seriousness,” said Dave.

“Guess not,” Dirk sighed, wandering over to the light control panel to turn them down a little—they really were pretty damn bright.

“Plus, I bet Aradia already told you everything,” Dave continued.

“Not at all.” Dirk joined Dave on the couch, angling himself so he was facing him. “She mentioned there’d been an incident but that it was nothing to worry about. I’d… meant to ask you about it, but…”

“Busy?”

“Yeah.” Well, now he felt like the scum of the earth—more so than usual, that is. “Sorry.”

Dave sighed through his nose, glancing briefly at Dirk before staring down at his knees. It was interesting how Dave seemed to make far less eye contact without his shades on. “It was a few weeks ago. I must have fucked something up Time-wise, because I just don’t see how else it could have happened. Time tends to not really enjoy being fucked with. It does its best to punish those who break the rules, unless you have the power to… not get punished. I guess. And I don’t have that. So… one day I’m out getting some air by the cliffs after a training session, and…” he paused. “I don’t really _know_ what happened. Everything kinda… stopped, the way it used to when I first got here. I figured the chandelier thing was my punishment for all those incidents—Time isn’t supposed to be stopped, you know; it doesn’t work that way. My punishment for this one was pretty much instantaneous. I was caught off guard, slipped, started falling, and managed to time jump back a few seconds. Just in time to watch alt-me brain himself on the rocks.” He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “Aradia has dead people telling her things all the time, so she was there pretty much instantly with the fucking clean-up crew.”

“Clean-up crew?” Dirk questioned.

“Yeah: herself, to explain the temporal mechanic bullshit of the incident; the Peixes troll from the temple to take care of the corpse; and… Karkat.”

“To…?”

“To… be Karkat? I don’t know. Karkat’s Karkat.”

“Astute.”

“Shut up.” Dave shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Dirk again. “Anyway, there you go. There’s that. Now it’s your turn.”

Well, Dirk knew this was coming. “There’s not really much to say,” he said slowly.

“Maybe start with why you’re so fucking obsessed with finding the King?” Dave suggested.

Honestly? Dirk had no fucking clue why. It was just… something he felt he _needed_ to do. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “And this isn’t me being avoidant, I really have… no fuckin’ clue. Maybe I’m just sick of dancing around all these different royal titles and the various connotations and caveats they hold. It’d be easier if I were king. You know? Or maybe I subconsciously _want_ to find him so I can go back to just being the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent for a while longer.” He shook his head. “I… _need_ to know what the fuck happened to him.”

Dave hummed. “Maybe it’s because you actually, like, sorta knew him, but I can’t really relate. I mean, yeah, I guess it’d be nice to know if he’s dead or not, but since the last time he acknowledged my existence was to order a hit on me and Rose, I’m at least certain I don’t want him to come back. Or even be alive. Which is probably a really shitty thing to think about your own father, but… it’s weird even thinking of him as that.”

“I understand. I just… fuck. I don’t know. It’s like I have this feeling that there’s more to this disappearing act of his than just whim, or mockery, or whatever the fuck else.”

“Okay. So you _do_ know why you’ve been sending search parties here there and everywhere,” Dave pointed out.

“Yeah,” Dirk chuckled humourlessly, “guess I do.”

“Alright, so, next thing.”

“Next thing?”

“That wasn’t nearly substantial enough for the emotional shitpile. It pales in comparison to my harrowing tale of how I saw myself eat shit off a fuckin’ cliff, like a real smooth dude.”

It seemed Dave had no problem maintaining eye contact when _he_ wasn’t the one being interrogated. Dirk had no trouble with eye contact in any situation—usually his gaze unnerved people, whether because of the colour of his eyes or the intensity of his stare, or perhaps both. Maybe Dave was used to people being unnerved by his stare, too, and he was probably self-conscious about it. Dirk had to admit, though, the openness of not wearing their shades was sort of… nice.

“Well,” Dirk began. “I can’t sleep.”

“Obviously.”

“Because… of stress, firstly.”

“Yeah.”

“And weird fucking dreams.”

“Welcome to the club. What about?”

“Not sure. Death, destruction, the usual staples of unsettling nightmares.” He really didn’t feel like regaling Dave with the gory details of the one dream he _did_ remember.

Luckily, Dave didn’t pry. “Welcome to the other club. Population: us. And also Karkat, he’s one hell of an insomniac, too.”

“Well aren’t we just a motley fuckin’ crew?” said Dirk.

“Pretty much. Okay, anyway, next?”

Dirk sighed. “Is this not enough for you?”

“You may think you’re hot shit when it comes to piercing gazes and seeing through people, but I grew up with _Rose_ ,” said Dave.

“Good point. Well, then, if _you’re_ so good, you should be able to guess.”

“Oh, I definitely can, I just wanted to see if you would tell me.” Dave frowned. “Guess not. But… it’s Jake, isn’t it?”

Dave had hit the nail—the tip of which was embedded in Dirk’s miraculously existent heart—right on the head.

“Yeah,” Dirk said quietly.

“Look, I… I don’t really know anything about this sort of stuff—as in, I know jack shit—but… you know I’m always here whenever you feel like you need to talk, right?”

“Yeah,” Dirk repeated softly, “same to you.” The problem was, Dirk _never_ felt like he needed to talk—he always felt like he needed to just… push it down. Keep it locked away. Not think about it. It was like what he used to tell Dave all those years ago—if you don’t look, it isn’t there. If you don’t think about it, it doesn’t exist. It doesn’t hurt. Talking means thinking, and thinking means unnecessary pain, so it was best to stay silent.

Dave smiled, and again Dirk felt like the shittiest person on the planet. He only felt shittier when Dave shuffled over and wrapped his arms around Dirk’s shoulders. Dirk hugged him back, of course he did—he hadn’t realised how much he had needed a hug until Dave let go and stood and offered Dirk a hand up.

“Let’s go get dinner.”

Dirk agreed, but only out of guilt.

 

Sender: _HRH D. Strider_  
Recipient: _CDR M. Peixes_  
I’d like to request that command put together a small scouting party to search the battleground (on both Dersian and Prospitian sides and behind enemy lines, when viable) for any clue as to the King’s whereabouts.  
  
Sender: _CDR M. Peixes_  
Recipient: _HRH D. Strider_  
you gotta be squiddin me  
cute that you think we have the resources to spare on this sorta bullshit but no  
  
Sender: _HRH D. Strider_  
Recipient: _CDR M. Peixes_  
I’m not asking you to spare a whole squad, or to go too far out of your way. A small party of two to four soldiers will suffice.  
Would it help if I said please and thank you? Or perhaps if I were to amend my earlier statement to say that, rather than requesting you to do this, I’m ordering you?  
  
Sender: _CDR M. Peixes_  
Recipient: _HRH D. Strider_  
alright alright ill sea who i can spare  
probubbly no one because there are horrorterrors out the fuckin blowhole up here  
  
Sender: _HRH D. Strider_  
Recipient: _CDR M. Peixes_  
Thank you.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--  
  
TT: Hey.  
TT: If you were curious, the situation with the King is still going fucking terribly.  
TT: As in... no luck so far.  
TT: No luck with much of anything, really.  
TT: Hope things are going better on your end.  
TT: ...  
TT: Just,  
TT: Thought I’d give you an update.  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] \--  
  
TT: Hi, Jane.  
TT: I have a favour to ask of you.  
GG: Hm... really.  
TT: Is that... a problem?  
GG: No, no, of course not.  
TT: Alright, good.   
TT: It’s just that the way you replied made it seem like it might be a problem.  
GG: I’m quite certain I have no clue what you’re talking about! :B  
TT: Right.  
TT: Well, anyway.  
TT: I need your permission to start sending search parties onto your lands.  
GG: Search parties? Whatever for?  
TT: You didn’t know? I’m trying to find the King.  
GG: Oh, right. Of course. Do you really think he’d be somewhere in Prospit?  
TT: I have no fucking clue. He certainly doesn’t seem to be anywhere in Derse, so, yeah. Maybe he is somewhere in Prospit.  
GG: That’s... troubling.  
TT: Tell me about it.  
GG: Very well, then. In fact, I’m more than happy for you to send search parties if you really think he might be hiding somewhere in my kingdom, for whatever reason.  
TT: Thanks.  
TT: There’s something else, too.  
GG: What is it?  
TT: Is Jake okay?  
GG: Um...  
GG: Why wouldn’t he be?  
TT: I don’t know. I guess I haven’t talked to him in a while.  
TT: Or rather, he hasn’t talked to me.  
GG: ...  
GG: Really, now.  
TT: Yeah.  
GG: That’s...   
GG: Interesting.  
TT: Is it?  
GG: Yes.  
GG: Interesting.  
TT: Why?  
GG: Well.  
GG: Roxy informed me of something else... interesting.   
GG: The other day.  
TT: Did she.  
GG: Before you jump to conclusions, I’m not mad at you or anything.  
GG: Quite the opposite, now that I know that Jake’s reticence is... omnidirectional.   
TT: Omnidirectional.  
GG: Yes.  
TT: So... you haven’t been talking to him either.  
TT: Or rather,  
TT: He hasn’t been talking to you.  
GG: Or anyone, really.  
GG: Except perhaps John, and maybe Jade. I’ll have to ask them.  
TT: Interesting.  
GG: I think so, too.  
TT: And yet, concerning.  
GG: I suppose.  
TT: For what it’s worth, I feel compelled to apologise for basically ending your engagement and all that bullshit.  
TT: Would’ve kept my self-control in check if I’d known that this would be the outcome.  
TT: Wow, that sounds way fuckin’ worse than it did in my head so I may as well clarify that the implications are innocent.  
TT: Mostly.  
GG: I was trying not to think about it.  
TT: Sorry.  
GG: It’s fine. I suppose we’ll probably have to do something about this.  
TT: Yeah, maybe.  
TT: Maybe it’s best if both of us just let it be.  
TT: That is to say, you or I may not be the best candidates for “do[ing] something about this.”  
GG: ...Yes. Perhaps you’re right.  
GG: I’ll ask John and Jade about him when I get the chance. I’ve been awfully busy, as you can expect.  
TT: Same here.  
TT: In any case, thanks for giving your blessing.  
TT: For the search parties, I mean. You can expect them to be on Prospitian lands within the next few days.  
GG: Very well. I will be sure to inform my own patrols to ignore them, and even help them where possible.  
TT: That’d be a big help.  
TT: Talk to you soon.  
GG: Take care, Dirk.  
TT: You, too.  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe [GG] \--  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--  
  
TT: By the way.  
TT: Jane knows.  
TT: If you won’t talk to me, at least talk to her.  
TT: She’s still your fucking family.  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--  
  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--  
  
TT: Good to see you and Jane have reached new heights of friendship.  
TG: oh noooooo  
TG: ok dirk plz understand  
TG: i had like no choice  
TG: ive been dealing with jaens neuroticism about the breakup for fuckn weeks now and it was killin me not just telling her the truth  
TG: i didnt even technically striahgt up tell her it was you ok i just said that it was a dude and she was like welp theres literally no way it isnt mr strider  
TG: which is a pretty fair assumption to mske but stilllllll  
TG: :( im sry  
TT: It’s whatever. She says she’s not mad at me and she doesn’t seem to be, so it’s not a big deal.  
TT: It’ll probably be a little awkward between us for a while, but better that than the other alternative.  
TT: Best for her to know the truth, anyway. I’m actually surprised you didn’t tell her sooner.  
TG: r u srs  
TT: She would have found out eventually.  
TG: gdi WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME  
TT: Tell you what? “By the way, Roxy, I’m totally cool with it if you tell Jane that I’m the reason her fiancé called off their engagement.”  
TT: Jane’s my friend, too, you know.  
TG: :/:/:/ why couldnt you have had the hots for some other dorky dude  
TG: that wouldve made this hwole debaccel wayyyy simpler  
TT: Trust me, I’m insanely fuckin’ aware.  
TG: siiiiiiiiiiign  
TG: ok well  
TG: ar you aware  
TG: that  
TG: youre in oddline mode atm?  
TG: *offline fuck  
TT: Oddline enough, yes.  
TT: *Oddly. Excuse me.  
TG: wow uncalled for  
TG: ok i was just checkin   
TG: cuz rose has been wantin to talk to u  
TT: Oh. I didn’t know.  
TG: annnnnnd  
TG: a lil birdie told me something vvvvv interesting  
TT: Really. What might that be.  
TG: he told me that yooouuuuu  
TG: have been a big ball of angsty angst latelyu  
TT: Did he now.  
TG: are you really susprised? pls dont tell me ur legit surpsied about this  
TT: I’m not surprised.  
TG: ok good  
TG: hes worried about you ya big fuckn a-hoel  
TT: I know.  
TT: We talked earlier.  
TG: ok good  
TG: did u have a legendary feelz jam?  
TT: Yes.  
TG: good  
TG: thats all i need to hear  
TG: no sign of the king then?  
TT: No.  
TG: hmmm  
TG: oh please dirk stop with all the deatails i can hardlt handle all these words  
TT: There’s really not much more to say on the subject, though. Search parties have been unsuccessful; town sentries haven’t spotted anything, either. By all accounts, he quite literally disappeared from the Palace grounds.  
TT: And, apparently, off the face of the fuckin’ planet.  
TT: The only piece of information we have that might even _slightly_ qualify as a lead is that there was a train leaving for Skaia the same day he disappeared.  
TG: hmm so you think he mightve gone to the battlefield?  
TT: Maybe. Who the fuck knows. No one who was on duty at the station at the time recalls seeing him, but that probably doesn’t mean jack shit.  
TT: I’ve already commissioned Commander Peixes to put together a scouting party to search as much of Skaia as possible. She wasn’t happy about it.  
TT: And anyway, I have my doubts about the likelihood of them finding anything. It’s the opposite of an ideal environment for trying to find someone.  
TG: ok but hes the fuckn king youd think ppl would know him on sight  
TT: You’d think. You’d think that would make it impossible for him to go anywhere, and yet here we fuckin’ are.  
TG: i sense a diturbnace in the force  
TT: Yeah.  
TG: so whyd you bother gettin poeple to search skaia if you dont think theyll find anything?  
TT: So that I can at least say I fucking tried, and in this situation “trying” constitutes exploring every avenue.  
TT: I asked Jane for permission to search Prospitian lands.  
TG: huh  
TG: good idea  
TG: got any hope of that workin out?  
TT: None at all.  
TG: good to see youre still ur optimistic self!  
TT: Of course. The only thing more positive than me would be an atom consisting purely of protons.  
TG: thaaats not even possible  
TT: Exactly.  
TG: nice  
TT: How’s the no-boozing going?  
TG: its great!!  
TG: and im not even bein sarcastic  
TG: 1000% ssincerity  
TG: no booze for roxy  
TG: the last alcoholic beverage i consumed was  
TG: uh  
TG: i dont actually remember but it was at that party   
TT: Good. I’m glad to hear it.  
TG: oh and  
TG: i uh  
TG: i lost my circlet :(  
TT: Well, fuck. How’d that happen? Interdimensional black hole swallow it up?  
TG: YES  
TT: Figures.  
TG: how the fuck did you guess that  
TT: Ever since you finished installing the holo-screen hardware I’ve only ever seen you without it a handful of times.  
TT: Admittedly I was being facetious about the black hole, just because I figure that’s the only thing that could ever cause you to part ways with it.  
TG: yeah :(  
TG: it really was an intermidentiaonal black hooe tho  
TG: *interdimensional *hole  
TG: i swear im sober im jus not used to havin to use an actual keyboard with my fingers  
TG: but yeah anyway the fuckn black hole basterds been takin lots of my things  
TG: for e.g.  
TG: the first scarf i knitted  
TG: it was shitty but it was my first and i kinda really liked it but now its gone  
TG: i mean i can just knit a better one but stillllll  
TT: When did you learn to knit?  
TG: aaaaaages ago dude  
TG: rose taught me   
TG: before she got real busy with the moon stuff  
TT: Ah. How’s that going?  
TG: idk ask her  
TG: but anyway ive started makin a new circlet  
TG: i guess the upside to all this is that ive streamlined the design a lot since i made my first one  
TG: maaaaaaybe i can get these prospirian royals to commission me to make some for them ;)  
TG: good way to earn some extra spending money  
TG: to spend on  
TG: something  
TT: Yarn? Knitting needles?  
TT: Ammo? I noticed you didn’t leave your rifle behind.  
TG: ooh yeah i could buy components for some mods ive been meaning to make  
TG: i have an idea for one that might not work but if it does ill never have to reload the chamber again!  
TT: Sounds handy.  
TG: hellz yeah! ty for the enthusiasm bro  
TT: Sorry. I’m tired.  
TG: surprise surprise  
TG: go get some god damn sleep then ya dingus   
TG: its pretty fukn late   
TT: You’re awake, though.  
TG: :/  
TG: well yeah but  
TG: still  
TG: lets talk later  
TG: now that i know ur offline mode is just a ruse you just KNOW im gonna be pestering ur ass in the middleof the day  
TT: Great. I look forward to it.  
TG: me toooo thank you for not stewing your words in a vat of sarcasm before delievering them to me ;)  
TG: bye byeeeeee  
  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  


TT: I’m tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just one big angst fest. I'd apologise, but I'd be lying because I'm not sorry in the slightest. I enjoyed writing this chapter and I don't really want to think about what that says about me as a person!! :D *finger guns*
> 
> I will, however, apologise to myself for how hellish it was formatting that last block of pesterlogs. I did have fun fiddling around with the e-letter formatting, though.


	37. Poetic Exaggeration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She’d gone over the message from the little codebook in Derse’s archives so many times she knew it by heart—and while she was, of course, troubled by how little they knew of Derse’s moon, she could only keep telling herself that there was nothing they could have done there, anyway._

It was barely after seven in the morning when a polite knock sounded at the door to Rose’s rooms.

“Come in,” she called from where she stood by the window, cradling a cup of tea. She turned away from the sunrise in time to see Kanaya closing the door softly behind her.

“I thought you might be awake,” said Kanaya, offering a pleasant smile.

“I’m surprised I managed to get any sleep at all,” Rose admitted, indicating the tea set on the coffee table—though it would be more apt to name it a _tea_ table.

Kanaya perched on the gilded settee and began to help herself. “Me too.” She sniffed the top of the tea pot. “Earl Grey?”

“Lady Grey,” Rose corrected, sitting down on the matching settee across from her, “the Earl’s more delicate counterpart. Jane introduced me to it, it’s her favourite.” She paused, watching Kanaya stir in a spoonful of sugar. “To think, after today, we’ll have _finally_ reached it.” The idea was surreal. Solving half-broken puzzles and riddling out the best places to put the explosives had been the bulk of Rose’s everyday routine for the past two months and change. Someone had gone to great lengths to keep Prospit’s moon hidden, and Rose was more than eager to at least find out _why_ , if not who.

She’d gone over the message from the little codebook in Derse’s archives so many times she knew it by heart—and while she was, of course, troubled by how little they knew of Derse’s moon, she could only keep telling herself that there was nothing they could have done there, anyway. In the brief time between deciphering the message and leaving for Prospit, Rose had investigated the underbelly of the temple. Much to her surprise, she’d discovered the door which could once have lead down to the moon. There was no way to know that for sure, of course—it was only an informed guess, since there’d been little else behind the door but a solid wall of rock.

Sure, they’d had their troubles reaching the moon here in Prospit, but there was a compelling case as to why _this_ moon was the moon to go for. Firstly, whilst several earthquakes over the years—including a particularly severe one just a year before—had made the spiralling tunnels unnavigable, (the entrance having been hidden behind a slapdash brick wall in the Parthenon’s basement, detectable only through Rose’s Sight,) the obstacles were comparatively surmountable. Secondly, Prospit’s moon had been referred to as “ _the Light epitomised_ ,” which alone was enough to win Rose over, but, combined with the warning that “ _the Light is in danger_ ,” was a near-irresistible invitation.

Today they were on the final stretch. Today they would reach the moon, discover exactly what it was, and… well. Rose didn’t quite know what would come next, which was, naturally, infuriating. She hadn’t been able to shake the vague sense of unease that had set into her gut before she'd ever even left Derse, and thinking about what happened after reaching the moon only brought it more sharply into focus. It was Rose’s business to look ahead, and yet, right now, the thing to do seemed to be to focus on the present.

“It _is_ exciting,” Kanaya agreed, staring down at her teacup as she took a sip, considered the taste, and nodded to herself.

The moon wasn’t the only mystery in Prospit. “There’s something I don’t quite understand,” Rose began. “As a rainbow drinker, you subsist off of blood—specifically, the blood of fellow trolls, since the blood of humans doesn’t contain the right nutrients—and yet, on several occasions I’ve seen you consume plenty besides.” Actually, thinking about it, Rose hadn’t _ever_ seen Kanaya drinking blood. That might have been for the best.

“Human blood is enough to get me by in a pinch,” Kanaya clarified, “but, you’re right. It’s not as substantial as troll blood.” She smiled and took another sip of tea. “I’m enjoy foods and drinks such as this tea for the taste. They afford me no sustenance."

"So, your taste buds are essentially the same?”

“Oh, no, not even slightly.”

“I suppose that stands to reason. It’d be implausible for you to suddenly have a taste for blood, otherwise”

“Have you ever tasted blood?” Kanaya asked, then frowned. “Sorry, that was an odd question.”

Rose giggled slightly. “A little. I’ve bitten my tongue a couple times, and split my lip a few more. I can… definitely think of more pleasant tastes.”

“That’s how blood was for me, before I changed. Now, it’s… I can’t really describe the taste. I suppose _it_ hasn’t really changed— _I_ have. So, of course, it goes two ways: there are things I used to like which I can no longer stand,” Kanaya explained.

“Like what?”

She levelled Rose with a severe look. “Chocolate biscuits.”

Rose feigned a dramatic gasp. “How _awful_!”

“It _is_ a tragedy,” Kanaya said solemnly. “However, there’s a light at the end of this particular dark tunnel of misfortune.”

“Is that light… you?”

Kanaya grinned, and even in the morning sunlight, Rose could see the faint glow radiating off her opaline skin. “Of course.”

“You truly are,” Rose laughed, mirroring Kanaya’s grin. Then a thought came to mind, and Rose felt the smile fall from her face. She shifted, placing her empty tea cup down on the coffee table. “Kanaya… I’m sure you don’t mind my asking, but…”

Kanaya raised her eyebrows questioningly as she continued to sip her own tea. “What?”

“Well, you keep mentioning how you… ‘turned,’ but… I don’t think you’ve ever told me quite how that happened. Or how it happens at all.” She chanced a look at Kanaya’s face, which—thankfully—looked thoughtful. “I mean, I know it’s a very rare affliction, of course, with you and Porrim being two of only a handful of known rainbow drinkers, but I thought there must be some sort of… correlation, I suppose, since the both of you are of the same blood colour and more or less the same profession.” She paused. “Um… I think I’m rambling.” She supposed she had to make up for Dave’s absence somehow. As busy as she’d been, it was quiet without him around.

“Only a little,” agreed Kanaya with her wind-chime laugh. “It’s okay, Rose, I don’t mind you asking. Jade-blooded trolls are the only trolls who _can_ be rainbow drinkers, and with the former being rare enough as it is, naturally the latter is even more so,” she explained. “And since jadebloods are so uncommon, there’s rarely a like-blooded family to adopt us when we make our way over the city threshold as wigglers. Typically, the Parthenon takes us in, and we are raised there. I’m sure the same is true of Derse’s temple.”

Rose nodded. She didn’t really know for sure, but she didn’t want to interrupt Kanaya by wondering about it aloud.

“When we reach six sweeps old we’re given a choice: we may either enter the Priesthood to take charge of the Athenaeum and all matters of the aspects within Prospit’s walls, or go to the brooding caverns in the south to tend to the mother grub and ensure the proliferation of our species. For me, it wasn’t a very difficult choice to make—as much as my blood causes me to feel duty-bound to my species, I rather selfishly chose to stay in the city. I’d… made friends here, and I didn’t want to leave them behind.”

“That’s not selfish at all,” said Rose. “In fact, it’s rather cruel to force children to make such a choice.”

Kanaya shrugged. “Some of us feel the pull of the caverns more strongly than others. In fact, Porrim and I are currently two of the only Jade-bloods in the Parthenon. Porrim is somewhat like an older sister to me, I suppose. Kankri and Karkat quickly became like brothers when she took them in.” She smiled wistfully. “So, that answers your question about why the two highest-ranking Priestesses are of the same blood. I think us both being rainbow drinkers is down to little more than chance. Or perhaps it’s part of why we both chose to stay in the city. Maybe even why we grew so close to each other.”

Rose remained silent, waiting for Kanaya to broach the inevitable following subject.

“As for _how_ I turned…” Kanaya set her teacup down beside Rose’s, her expression a mask of contemplation. “The shortest and easiest way to explain it is with an old proverb: ‘beware the rainbow drinker, for she has two lives.’ ”

Admittedly, it took a second for it to click in Rose’s mind. “Oh,” she said softly. “So you had to… die?”

Kanaya nodded.

“I’m… sorry.”

She smiled slightly. “It was sweeps ago, now. I’d tell you what happened, but…” she glanced up at the clock over the door. “I believe Jade is waiting for us.”

Rose looked at the clock herself. It was after half past seven—they’d promised to meet Jade at the Parthenon at eight. “I suppose so,” Rose agreed, a little reluctantly.

 

Prospit was typically a late-rising city—the City of Dreamers, some called it, and it was easy to see why. They loved their sleep. The city didn’t fully awaken until midmorning, and started to wind down by early evening. It was quite the change of pace from Derse, which rose early and didn’t sleep until late. A City of Insomniacs, compared to Prospit. Rose thought the comparison was quite astute.

As such, the golden streets were quiet as she and Kanaya made their way to the Parthenon. They didn’t talk, merely enjoyed each other’s company and the touch of the cool, crisp, winter’s morning air as they mulled over their own thoughts. They passed by a few early risers, with whom they exchanged silent but friendly smiles before continuing on their way. That was another notable difference between the two cities—in Derse, strangers kept to themselves, heads bowed, faces shyly hidden. In Prospit, there seemed to be little difference between strangers and polite acquaintances.

Jade was sitting at the top of the stairs in front of the Parthenon’s entrance, chin resting in her palm, looking troubled as she stared out over the gardens. Rose and Kanaya were halfway up the stairs before she noticed them and was startled out of her reverie.

“Good morning,” Rose said pleasantly. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, um,” Jade giggled nervously as she pushed herself up to join them, “I was just... well, I had a weird dream last night.”

“Weird dreams are old hat to you, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but… this one was a special brand of weird. Like, the _old_ kind of weird. The kind of weird that I haven’t had to deal with for about a year now.”

“You mean… prophetic dreams?”

Jade nodded. “Uh-huh. Which seems a little coincidental, considering what we’re doing with the moon and stuff, because I can think of something else weird that happened about a year ago.”

“The earthquake,” said Kanaya. “No one really expected it, since there’d just been another one not six months before.”

“There was a preceding earthquake? Why was I not informed?” Rose asked.

“I suppose it wasn’t as bad.”

“No, but,” began Jade, “it’s just sorta funny. I’m pretty sure it was a little after the first earthquake that I first started having those weird  dreams and showing signs of my aspect abilities, but then after the second one, the dreams stopped.”

“So perhaps the first earthquake… _cleared_ the tunnels somewhat, while the second blocked them off,” Rose suggested.

“Yep,” agreed Jade. “Or something like that. And now that there’s practically a direct path straight to the moon from the surface, the dreams are back,” she concluded. She looked tired, Rose noted.

“You’re not the only one to whom strange things are happening,” Kanaya assured her. “It’s been… an odd few weeks.”

Rose nodded. “It makes me more eager than ever to finally see what we’ve been moving towards all this time.”

“I guess,” said Jade. “I… kinda have a bad feeling about it.”

Rose checked the time on her circlet. It was barely after eight. “We have some time before the workers will be ready,” she pointed out. “Why don’t you tell us about your dream? How do you _know_ that it’s prophetic? Until it comes to pass, I mean.”

Jade bit her lip. “I don’t know? I guess it’s just a certain feeling I get that I don’t get from any other sort of dream. They’re… dreams that feel like memories. And when I’m awake they’re memories that feel like dreams. I mean, they _are_ dreams, but… you know. Different.” She pursed her lips reflectively, eyes aimed towards the sky as she summoned her thoughts to her lips. “Maybe it’s because I haven’t had a dream like that for a while, but it was… really unspecific! I think I saw you two, though. I think we were…” she trailed off.

“Where?” Rose prompted gently. “Where were we?”

Face grim—an expression which looked out of place on her typically bubbly features—Jade pointed at the space between their feet. Rose instantly knew what she meant: below. _Underneath._ Near the moon.

“There was this… golden light,” Jade continued. “Like no sort of light I’d ever seen, it was just… _pure_. I don’t know how else to describe it. I think… I mean, I couldn’t see it, but I _think_ it was the moon.”

Rose’s heart might have skipped a couple of beats. “That’s…”

“Slightly ominous,” Kanaya said quietly.

“Yeah,” Jade assented.

“No!” Rose disagreed. “It’s… it’s great! It means it _is_ there and it _is_ something and we _are_ going to reach it. Not only that, but something able to emit its own light— _golden_ light, as you say—undoubtedly holds a great deal of power.”

“Of _course_ it’s powerful, Rose, it’s making weird things happen to everyone all around the city!” Jade reminded her.

“No, no. You don’t understand,” Rose said patiently, glancing between Jade’s anxious expression and Kanaya’s calm but thoughtful—and maybe mildly concerned—countenance. “The very first time I ever Saw anything, when I was six years old, my whole mind was filled with golden light—virtually indescribable, like you said.” It had been so bright, so beautiful, and so painful. It was only once it was over that she’d learned, from a very shaken-up Dave, that she’d been practically incoherent for hours.

Rose continued. “It was just… pure knowledge. At first I thought it was something to do with being a Seer, but neither Kankri nor Terezi’s awakenings were anything near as violent as my own, according to them. It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time—for years, actually. I’ve always wondered why the Temple of Light revered _me_ so highly over other heroes of Light—and why the combination of Seer and Light is so rare. I may never have an answer to that question, but eventually I came to the conclusion that perhaps being a Seer of Light means I have the closest connection to the aspect of Light itself. That perhaps what I saw that day almost eleven years ago _was_ Light itself—not the thing, but the _power_ , the raw force. It… communicates with me— _through_ me.” She paused. “And, supposedly, this _moon_ is ‘the Light epitomised.’ I’m sure that might just be poetic exaggeration, but nonetheless. I can’t ignore how these puzzle pieces have been lining up.”

Jade still looked a little sceptical, but Kanaya nodded understandingly. “We’ll have the full picture soon enough,” she said, with an encouraging smile.

Warm affection towards her bloomed in Rose’s chest. “I hope so. I have a good feeling about it.”

Jade made an uncertain noise. “I still have a _bad_ feeling about it, but…” she shook herself, somewhat resembling a dog attempting to dry itself. “Ugh, I don’t know! Maybe I’m just tired. I’m not the Seer here, though, so… I trust you, Rose.”

“Thank you, Jade. I appreciate that.” Today was really shaping up to be a good day—Rose felt uncharacteristically emotional about the wonderful calibre of people she was surrounded by. She cleared her throat, turning to face the Parthenon’s entrance. “We should go in.”

Porrim was waiting for them at the top of the stairs leading down into the basement. “Finally,” she said as they came within earshot. She indicated the stairs. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Rose grinned, her heart picking up the pace. “Then I suppose we’d better not _keep_ them waiting.”

 

When plowing through rock walls and ensuring that multiple miles of winding underground passageways were safe to traverse, it was advisable to hire professionals. As such, the Parthenon had hired out nearly the entirety of Prospit’s most highly-acclaimed construction company. Digging tunnels wasn’t really their typical modus operandi, but they employed a sizeable repertoire of stoneworkers and miners, and thus far they had proven more than sufficient.

The Parthenon and its personnel, meanwhile, had been more than accommodating—partially, it had to be admitted, because its two premier Priestesses were involved with, and invested in, the proceedings. Porrim had even instructed that the transportalisers linking the ground floor to the archives on the top floor be moved down here—one at the tunnel entrance, the other deep in the tunnels. It was a lot easier to step on a platform and be teleported down than having to walk every day. It saved them a _lot_ of time.

Transportalisers were an interesting piece of ancient troll technology. The only few that existed in the world today were from the ships the first trolls had arrived in. Naturally, they were unable to be replicated—the inner workings didn’t seem to have any sort of logic to them, at first, but over the years, teams of human and troll scientists had made sense of them, and, ultimately, discovered that many of the materials they were made from didn’t even exist on earth. As such, they were incredibly rare, and incredibly valuable. The only two pairs Rose knew of were this one and a matching one in Derse’s temple.

Porrim waved Rose forward and she stepped up onto the platform, right in the centre of the strange blocky symbol on its surface. As soon as her second foot touched down on the metal she heard the tell-tale _whir_ of the machine’s activation, and after only a moment of feeling as if she were trapped in a vacuum-sealed tube, she found herself in the depths of the tunnels. The labourers were already hard at work, reinforcing the timber supports that, in some places, were the only thing stopping the tunnel from caving in on their heads. The situation was still incredibly precarious, but thanks to the transportalisers, once they had moved on from an area, it no longer needed to be maintained. And perhaps that was for the best, Rose thought—perhaps if, after they had already reached the moon, there happened to be another earthquake that caved in the entire tunnel system. As long as they were still able to get to the moon itself, perhaps that would be better. Perhaps it would put an end to the strange dreams and aspect mishaps everywhere in the city.

Rose stepped down off the platform and waited for her friends to arrive. The foreman spotted her and came hurrying over.

“My workers are ready, ma’am,” he said with a quick bow which was really more of a nod. “There’s a cave-in up ahead which looks to go pretty far in, and we’ll need your guidance for where to put the bombs.”

“Wonderful,” Rose nodded and smiled. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” She hadn’t been Seeing all that much as of late, but her powers were still good for this sort of thing—knowing the best places to put the explosives so they could blast through the rubble without causing further cave-ins.

“Very well, ma’am. We’ll be waiting.” The foreman bowed again and hurried off.

“Strange that they don’t seem to care about you being a princess,” Jade pointed out, having teleported down whilst Rose was talking to the foreman.

Rose shrugged. “I think it’s more that they don’t care about me being a princess of _Derse_. Some of them do address me ‘properly,’ whatever that really means.” She was honestly more used to ‘Ma’am’ than ‘Highness,’ so the term of address was strangely… homely.

“They’re not under any obligation to,” Porrim pointed out. “Addressing a member of their own monarchy as ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir’ could traditionally be seen as sedition, but since Rose is _Dersian_ royalty, here in Prospit she’s little more than a guest of the crown. To be afforded respect, but not fealty.”

Jade frowned. “Well, I mean, technically _I’m_ not legitimate royalty, but they still address me ‘properly.’ ” She made air quotes around the word.

“Yes, because they respect you,” Rose pointed out. “I suppose many Prospitians still consider Derse to be the enemy, regardless of how forwardly amicable they may appear.”

“It’s not easy to simply undo four hundred years of mutual animosity,” Kanaya pointed out. “By some twist of fate, our current respective monarchs made contact and became friends from a young age, resulting in the ruling and administrative classes being mutually sympathetic. The common people may desire peace, yes, or at least temporary peace—as an instrument of necessity more than anything else. Regardless of how intelligent they are, they don’t have the same experiences, encounters, and knowledge that we do.”

“And we can’t share everything, can we?” Porrim added. “For example, the only people down here who _truly_ know what it is we’re looking for are the four of us.”

“But why _can’t_ they know?” Jade wondered. “What harm would it do?”

“That’s just the thing: we don’t know,” Porrim explained. “It doesn’t sound good, but often ruling is about control. Not controlling _people_ , of course, but outcomes. Reactions. The truth is, we mostly don’t _know_ what outcome it would have if the general populace were more informed about sensitive issues such as this.”

“For example, there’s every chance that knowing precisely _what_ we’re looking for down here could cause widespread panic,” Rose suggested.

Porrim nodded. “Yeah, exactly. Panic is impossible to control, so it’s best to never take the risk. Disregarding the fact that we have a Seer of Mind on our side who can tell us for certain that trying to keep an entire kingdom’s worth of people in the loop would be a PR nightmare, to put it lightly.”

“So, basically, the ruling class only actually _tells_ the people things on a sort of… need-to-know basis,” Jade clarified dryly.

“That’s a simplified way of putting it,” said Kanaya. “It’s rather a nuanced topic.”

“When _isn’t_ politics nuanced?” Jade wondered. “Nuanced is just a synonym for ‘needlessly complicated,’ right?”

“It’s particularly uncomplicated when it isn’t relevant,” Rose pointed out. “Such as this very moment. I believe we have some piles of rubble to blow up.”

“Oh, boy, my favourite!” said Jade, punching the stale, dusty air with exaggerated excitement.

 

Perhaps it was ironic, or perhaps it was only fitting, but the final obstacle they came across—the final barrier between _them_ and _the moon_ —was a seemingly untouched, unbroken, and completely intact puzzle spanning the entirety of the wall, approximately eight feet high by five feet wide. It seemed to be a giant stone door comprised of hundreds of rectangular panels, some as long as Rose’s forearm, others only as long as her hand; all about as wide as a tea box. At the centre of the door there seemed to be an indentation, about the same size as one of the longer panels. After a few minutes of scrutinisation, Rose noticed a small, faded symbol in the centre of one of the panels near the door’s outer bottom edge, a symbol she recognised instantly—the symbol of Light.

“I think…” she began, “I think we have to get this panel to the centre somehow.

“Geez,” said Jade. “That might take a while.”

“Will you be needing my workers for that?” the foreman asked tentatively. “It’s past time for their lunch break…”

“So long as the tunnel is secure, I think we’ll be fine on our own from here,” Porrim told him.

“Right, but, uh… there’s something up ahead that’s… well…”

“It’s fine,” Porrim assured him.

“If you’re certain, Madam Priestess,” the foreman said uncertainly.

Rose put her fingers on the indentation in the centre of the door. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it—a tiny carved Light symbol, matching the one on the outer panel. Gently she pushed one of the panels beside the indentation. It slid lengthways, revealing the stone beneath in a perfectly square blank space. She tried to move one of the smaller panels beside what remained of the original indentation but it wouldn’t budge. However, the panel below it slid easily into place, effectively moving the initial indentation to the two squares below it.

“Interesting,” she mused. “The panels move lengthways, but not sideways. They must be on some sort of tracks that we can’t see… hm. The trickiest part will probably be keeping note of where the centre is.”

Kanaya put a gentle hand on her arm. “Rose, I think we should take our own lunch break before diving straight into it.”

Rose stubbornly shook her head. “No, no. You guys go ahead, I can do this. I _need_ to do this. _I_ need to do this.”

Jade scoffed. “I’m pretty sure I could just cheat by using my—”

“No!” Rose interrupted. “If cheating were an option, we could just blow it up. No. It _has_ to be solved properly—and by me. Besides, with the moon so close, using your powers could have a negative reaction.”

“So you’re _not_ going to use _your_ powers to solve it?” Jade asked sceptically.

“It’s different,” Rose told her. “Besides, I may not _need_ them. A puzzle such as this may take time and patience, yes. But it’s not particularly complicated.” She turned back to the door and resumed fiddling with the panels. They moved fairly easily, considering they were made from stone. Whoever made this was an incredibly skilled craftsperson.

Rose could practically _hear_ her companions exchanging glances behind her back.

“I should go check on things up above,” Porrim said eventually. “And talk to Silas about payment.”

“Is _that_ the foreman’s name?” asked Jade, as Porrim’s footsteps echoed away. “Huh. He never introduced himself.”

“It’s quiet down here without all those people,” Kanaya observed.

“Yeah…” agreed Jade. “It’s sorta creepy, actually.”

Rose continued to slide panels. She was trying to direct the blank space towards the marked panel at the bottom, but found herself working upwards instead. This was most definitely going to take a while.

“Um, anyway,” Jade continued, “I owe John lunch, so, uh…”

“You’d best not keep him waiting,” Kanaya advised.

“Seriously, he’s _so_ impatient. I’ll be back in like, an hour and a half tops, okay?”

“See you then.”

Jade’s footsteps faded away, followed by the _whir-whoosh_ of the transportaliser.

There was silence for a moment, silence but for the faint scraping of stone against stone as Rose continued to shift panels. It was getting more difficult, the higher up she worked—they seemed to be moving in a spiral, so she’d eventually need a stepladder to reach the top panels.

“You really should eat something,” Kanaya reminded her gently.

“I’ll eat afterwards,” Rose insisted. “Don’t let me keep you, you can go ahead.”

Kanaya sighed. “Your sister told me something interesting the other day.”

Rose paused, turning to look at her. “Really, now?”

Kanaya nodded. “She’s starting to get a little… concerned. Said you were reminding her of your brother.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Dave?”

“No. Dirk.”

Well. That _was_ interesting. “How so?”

“Apparently, he has a tendency to become obsessive about certain projects, or achieving certain goals. To disregard his own health and needs and sometimes even the feelings of those around him until he gets what he’s been working towards.”

“That rings true,” Rose said slowly. “I believe he’s currently in such a state, fixated on finding any hint of our father.” She tilted her head to one side. “Are you trying to say that… _I’m_ getting the same way with _this_ project?”

“I might be suggesting something along those lines, yes,” Kanaya said airily. “Rose, you can’t deny that you’ve been losing sleep over this. You can’t deny that the moon is all you’ve been thinking about day and night.”

“No, I can’t, because I know I haven’t, and I’m—” she stopped herself. “We’re so close, Kanaya.” She laid her hand flat on the door. “It’s just through here, I can—I can _feel_ it.” She really could. A pressure in her head, like a fire burning golden in the depths of her consciousness.

“I know we are,” Kanaya said quietly, “but I also know that just _finding_ the moon won’t be the end of all this. Finding it will be a big step forwards, yes, but it doesn’t answer every question we have. Maybe it doesn’t _have_ all the answers, Rose.”

Rose breathed long and deep, breathing in Kanaya’s words alongside the delicate edge of her perfume. “There’s only one way to find out,” she said quietly.

Kanaya nodded slowly. “I know. I just… I thought you should be aware of how your actions look to other people.”

“Well, um, thank you.” Rose smiled. “I think I’ll be alright. So long as I have you to keep me grounded… right?”

Kanaya returned the smile, her skin glowing softly in contrast to the harsh construction lights illuminating the tunnel. “Of course.”

Rose returned to the puzzle with renewed—but cautious—vigour, knowing she had the best help she could possibly hope for.

Between the two of them, they were able to solve the puzzle within forty minutes. Rose slid the marked panel into its marked indentation and stepped back, heart fluttering in her throat, her breath hitching around it with eager anticipation.

It started softly. A faint light, golden and pure, radiating out from the cracks between the panels. It started softly, and very suddenly grew sharp. In her peripheral vision, Rose saw Kanaya throw up a hand to shield her eyes, but Rose refused to flinch; refused to look away. She had seen this light before, _Seen_ it beyond mere vision. She hadn’t cowered from it then, and she wouldn’t now. Wouldn’t ever. It was hers, this Light. Hers to See and understand.

The light enveloped the stone, and when it had faded, the door was gone, revealing the cavern beyond.

Rose felt Kanaya’s steadying hand on her shoulder as she stepped forward, fixated by the very thing she had been working so long and so hard to reach.

“The moon,” she whispered, gazing up at the tremendous crystalline orb, its diameter as long as Prospit’s palace was tall—fifteen storeys; a hundred and fifty feet. In some places, the moon’s surface was jagged and rough, in others smooth and untouched; a patchwork of perfection and imperfection, every inch of it radiating empyreal divinity. The cavern itself was almost twice the size of the moon, its domed ceiling smooth, its flat floor even. The moon floated several metres above the floor, suspended by nothing, it seemed, but its own power.

Golden light flooded every inch of the cavern, soft as a mother’s touch and just as stern as her reprimand.

Rose’s knees felt weak. She stared at the moon, and it felt as if the moon were staring back. No, not the moon—the _Light_. It knew she was there, and it reacted to her presence. It overpowered her vision, filling her ears, her nose, her mouth—overwhelming her mind and infesting her soul until there was nothing left but _Light._

_,,͞ı̴ ɐɯ̡ ҉ʇ͘ɥǝ ͘ɹ̢ǝɟlǝɔʇ͟ı̛ou' ͠ʇɥǝ҉ ͝ɔ̛on͞u̴ʇ͝ǝ͞ɹ͟ɟǝ̷ıʇ̕ ̴qǝʎ̡ǫùp̧˙͝,,_

She tried to turn, but found she had no body—she was merely her own consciousness, floating in a golden oblivion.

_̶,,ʇɥ̀ǝ̕ ɯ҉o͡sʇ ͏ʌ́ɐ͘lnɐqlǝ͢ ʇɥıuƃ̶s̕ ɐɹǝ͢ q͠nɹı̶ǝp p̸ǝǝdǝ́ɹ͟ ̀ʇɥ͠ɐu ƃ͜ol͝p̨˙,,_

She tried to reply, but couldn’t, for how does one reply without a voice to reply _with_?

“Rose?”

She opened her eyes, her breath coming back to her in stuttering gasps. Every inch of her body ached, as if she’d been taken apart atom from atom and haphazardly thrown back together. She was surrounded by light, still, but this was a different light; a light less indifferent, less powerful, less… consuming.

“Kanaya,” she gasped, staring up at the troll’s worried face. She became aware of the slender arm around the back of her neck and shoulders, and suddenly felt inappropriately self-conscious. “What—what happened?”

“I think it was too much for you,” Kanaya said cautiously, helping Rose sit up. “The moon, I mean. You fainted, I… I thought it best to move you back in here.”

Rose nodded slowly, suddenly aware of a splitting headache in both of her temples. Kanaya had moved her a little ways back into the tunnel—out of sight of the moon, but not of its inescapable glow.

“Thank you,” Rose said quietly. What _was_ that? What the hell had just happened?

“You’re shaking,” Kanaya observed.

Looking down at her hands, Rose saw that she was, indeed, shaking—great, uncontrollable tremors that began at the base of her spine and ran up and down her whole body, her limbs, her fingers. Even her vision seemed to be trembling. “I’m…” she barked a bitter laugh. “I’m scared. I’m… _terrified_ , and I have no idea why!” Her voice was shaking, too. Her whole world was quivering.

Kanaya’s brow was quite thoroughly furrowed. “Let’s get you to the surface,” she suggested.

Rose could only nod jerkily and allow Kanaya to help her up.

ROSE: I’m sure that might just be poetic exaggeration, but nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have such weirdly conflicted feelings about this chapter. I like it--or at least I like what happens in it. But I guess I feel like recently I've sort of lost the handle on the characterisation of... most of the characters. It wasn't as noticeable last chapter because Dirk comes pretty naturally to me--as do Dave and Roxy--but... I don't know. I think maybe I need to re-immerse myself in the comic. Again.
> 
> Don't listen to me I'm just rambling. I like this chapter artistically, too; I always feel justified breaking out the poetic descriptions when I write from Rose's POV. I like it more than I don't like it, let's just put it that way. I swear half the time these "notes" are just me airing out my insecurities which I never knew I had. Writing this fic has been a learning experience in... so many ways.


	38. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You make a slightly better training dummy than you used to,” Dave chimed in._   
>  _“I wasn’t asking you.”_

“So!” Aradia began, “I’m _very_ pleased with the progress you two have been making.”

From where he was lying across the couch with his ankle propped up on his knee, his attention clearly divided between Aradia and whatever he was looking at on his tablet (which he was at risk of dropping on his own face), Dave offered a brief thumbs-up. Karkat, sat cross-legged on the armchair, sighed and rolled his eyes—at both of them.

“I appreciate the praise, no doubt willingly given as if we were fucking puppies or something, but I really fail to see what sort of _progress_ I’ve made compared to the time machine over here,” he pointed out. Dave had been making exponential progress with his control over the flow of Time, for sure. But as there weren’t all that many opportunities for Karkat to be bending spilled blood to his will, he couldn’t exactly say the same about himself.

“Dave has been making a lot of _evident_ progress, that’s true,” said Aradia. “But that doesn’t preclude the progress that _you’ve_ been making, Karkat. It’s just less obvious.”

“Example, please?” Karkat scoffed.

“You make a slightly better training dummy than you used to,” Dave chimed in.

“I wasn’t asking you.”

“Combat _is_ one thing!” Aradia—infuriatingly—agreed. “But that wasn’t what I was getting at. We’ve talked about the active/passive scale concerning the different _classes_ , but a less discussed theory is that different aspects lend themselves more naturally to being used in an active or passive manner.”

_And here we go again_ , Karkat thought to himself. _More fucking lectures._ Not that the content wasn’t _interesting_ , just… uncomfortable, usually, since not only did the topics of Aradia’s lectures apply directly to Karkat’s new reality, but he knew that he was somehow going to have to process and apply the information, somewhere down the line. That had been the pattern so far, at least. He never knew when some shred of once-mentioned information was going to crop up and suddenly be _super fucking pivotal_ to the fabric and/or continuation of his own miserable existence.

“Obviously, Time is a very active aspect,” Aradia continued. “Any class prescribed the aspect of Time, regardless of how active or passive it is, has some level of Time jumping ability. The individual classes simply denote how the hero is able to _use_ that ability. My sister, for instance, can bend timelines to her will. Dave primarily has to move in continuous loops in order to preserve the circulatory nature of causal paradoxes, and, in most instances, I can _only_ time travel if it is for the purpose of tidying one or more loops.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Karkat prompted. Aradia tended to get wildly off topic once she started rambling about temporal mechanics and all that bullshit. He was vaguely thankful that Aradia wasn’t a _Seer_ of Time, since, in Karkat’s experience, being a Seer automatically doubled (or even tripled!) the word count of any discourse related to whatever aspect they pertained to. There were many things Karkat didn’t have in common with Dave, but having grown up with pretentious and sometimes self-aggrandising Seers for siblings was an experience they shared.

In other words, this discourse bullshit was par for the fucking course in the great shithive series of events that comprised their lives. Didn’t make it any more bearable, unfortunately.

Aradia giggled sheepishly. “I was merely explaining that since Time is in and of itself an active aspect, Dave’s progress has been more evident than yours, just as active abilities are more evident than passive ones. Blood, inversely, is an aspect which lends itself considerably more to extreme passivity—which is why many active classes of the Blood aspect never reach their full potential: they don’t realise the nature of their aspect. Of course, one of the ways in which I believe you _have_ been making progress over the last few months is _through_ your increased understanding of your aspect. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“No,” Karkat disagreed—quite heartily.

“Really?” Aradia sighed. “Well, haven’t you perhaps considered the reason why Dave has been making such hasty progress?”

“It’s just because I’m great at everything,” Dave supplied, gaze still fixed on his tablet screen.

“Yeah fucking right,” Karkat rejoined. He looked at Aradia. “Let me guess: I helped speed-develop Dave’s time travelling with the Power of Friendship or something equally implausible and ridiculous?”

“No, but close! Remember when we talked about how Blood connotes not only unity between individuals, but within an individual? Your presence and friendship has, via the unity _between_ the two of you, increased your individual personal harmony. Personal harmony is essential to any hero’s mastery of their aspect.”

Wow. That sure was some trite bullshit. And also completely untrue, since, as far as Karkat could tell, they were both still severely fucked up individuals. There was simply no cure for that.

“Thanks, bro,” Dave said idly.

“Any time,” Karkat sighed. “Okay, sure, so that’s that. I’m a fucking good luck charm, great! Good for me! Move over, rabbit feet, here comes Karkat! The fact remains that Knight is _supposedly_ an active class, so where the fuck does the active part come in?”

“The active component of your abilities is much harder to master, simply by virtue of the fact that, in an environment such as this, there isn’t a lot of readily-available danger,” said Aradia.

“You mean readily available _spilled blood_?” Karkat corrected.

“Who said the blood needed to be spilled in order for you to control it?” Aradia pointed out. “Adrenaline is a trigger for both of you, we know that—but for you, Karkat, the added difficulty is that your active abilities primarily come into play when someone you care about is in danger.”

“How do you figure that from the _single_ fucking example we have?” Karkat wondered.

Aradia blinked at him. “I have my sources.”

Of course she fucking did. “So… you’re saying I can control the blood _inside_ people’s bodies?”

“Perhaps,” Aradia said coyly. “In dangerous situations.”

“Define ‘dangerous,’ please?”

“For example, if you and Dave were in the city and an assailant came out of a dark alley and leapt at Dave with a knife, what would you do, knowing that you have the power to control blood itself?” Aradia queried.

“Karkat wouldn’t have to do anything,” Dave said. “I’d break the chump’s arm before anyone knew what was happening.”

Aradia sighed. “Alright, but let’s suppose, in this hypothetical situation, that… your back is turned.”

Dave laughed drily. “Makes no difference.”

“Then let’s suppose you’re indisposed or distracted in some way.”

“Hmm, nah, I can’t think of anything that could possibly distract me enough to stop me from defending myself from unexpected would-be knife maniacs. What are you suggesting?”

“ _I_ don’t know! Dave, this isn’t about you. It’s about Karkat.”

Dave put down his tablet and sat up, adjusting his brand-new shades, which had arrived from Prospit a few days earlier. Karkat was pretty sure he hadn’t taken them off since. Probably not even in the shower. “Okay, sure, but we have to give him a hypothetical situation which is at least _semi_ realistic, right? So if it ever actually happens, he’ll know _exactly_ what to do. Right, Karkat?”

“Sure, Dave. Whatever the fuck you say.”

“Okay, I’ve got a good one. Suppose we’re having a sleepover in here because you’ve coerced me into watching more of your shitty romcoms, and I’ve already fallen asleep from boredom but you’re still over here with the volume down _real_ low like a gentleman watching whatever the fuck you’re watching—I’ve heard _Love Actually_ is actually good—and then, _unexpectedly_ , a rogue chandelier jumps through the window and tries to murder me in my sleep. _What do you do?_ ”

“Dave!” Aradia groaned.

“I wake up and think, ‘wow, what a weird fucking dream,’ ” Karkat said.

“Can we _please_ go back to my original hypothetical situation, in which the assailant _actually_ has blood that Karkat can control to stop them?” Aradia implored.

Dave offered Karkat a smirk.

“Easy,” Karkat said, raising his eyebrows at Dave before turning back to Aradia. “I’d use my control over Blood to make the assailant stop in their fucking tracks.”

Aradia deflated. “It’s really not fair when you two team up on me like that.”

Dave laughed. “You _wanted_ us to be a team.”

“Yes, but—Oh, forget it. The _real_ point is, Karkat, you can’t practice that sort of thing with only the two of you sparring.” She grinned that slightly terrifying manic grin of hers. “The reason why I wanted today’s talk to be a little earlier than normal was to brief you for today’s strife… in which you’ll have _me_ as an opponent!”

Hooray.

“Dramatic reveal,” said Dave blankly.

“And now for intermission,” sighed Karkat. “In the form of walking down nineteen fucking flights of stairs.”

“Yeah… it’s a shame my sick time powers don’t include time skips.”

“What a fucking tragedy, go cry about it.”

“Hey, bro, _you’re_ the one constantly griping about the stairs.”

Aradia sighed. “Sometimes I really think putting the two of you together was actually a terrible idea.”

 

“Well, that was a long-ass walk down the stairs during which absolutely nothing noteworthy happened,” said Dave as he used his shoulder to nudge open the door to the Midnight Hall.

“Actually, depending on _how_ you time jump, it is theoretically possible to jump location, too. Tricky, but possible.”

Dave seemed to consider the idea. “Yeah, I guess I see how that would work. I should try that out later.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us that before?” Karkat demanded.

“Everything takes practice,” Aradia said calmly. “Anyway, you two should have a short match to warm up.”

Karkat and Dave exchanged a glance, both shrugging before setting off to the other end of the hall—they’d started leaving their weapons there when not performing routine care and maintenance, since this hall didn’t get any other use these days.

“So…” Dave began as they walked. “A little off-topic, I know, but you remember how Rose and Kanaya and stuff were looking for that thing under Prospit?”

Again, Karkat glanced at Dave, whose expression was schooled—as always—into a mask of impassivity. From this angle, Karkat could just see Dave’s eyes behind his shades; see how they were focussed straight ahead. “Yeah,” he replied cautiously.

“Well, they found it. Some sort of… massive power orb fucking things up city-wide. Rose was telling me about it just before.”

So _that’s_ what Dave had been doing on his tablet that whole time. “Holy shit,” was all Karkat could think to say. They reached the other end of the hall and retrieved their weapons. Karkat checked Homes Smell Ya Later for dings or scratches and made sure the blade was sufficiently sharpened, then looked up to see Dave just staring blankly at the Deringer in his hands. “Isn’t that a good thing, though, that they finally fucking found it? Hasn’t it been driving her crazy all this time? Which has been driving _Kanaya_ crazy, as well as pretty much everyone the fuck else, apparently.” Those two needed to sort their shit—it was as plain as _daylight_ what was going on between them.

“Yeah, maybe? Sure, Rose seems to think so,” said Dave as they started to head back towards the centre of the room. “I don’t know. I guess something just feels off about it—Jade agrees with me, and she’s actually _there_.” He sighed. “I guess… I just don’t like the idea of messing with something like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like, huge and powerful enough to cause even the slightest _shred_ of aspect powers to go fucking haywire? And _oh_ my god, dude, surely you’ve been getting the same complaints about the fucked up dreams, right?”

They stopped in the centre of the room, but they didn’t start the strife yet. “Of course I have,” said Karkat. “Might I remind you that it’s sort of _normal_ for trolls to have fucked up dreams? And it’s not like _you_ can talk—haven’t you been having fucked up dreams, too? I know I have, but what else is new?”

Dave shifted uncomfortably, his sword hanging loosely in his hand. “Yeah, but… fuck, dude, I don’t know. It just reeks of _bad fucking idea_ to me, is all.”

“You can gossip later, boys,” Aradia called to them from where she sat cross-legged by the door, as if patiently waiting her turn. “Time’s ticking.”

There was an edge to the way she said those two words that Karkat found strangely unsettling—or maybe, being the hyper-empathetic asshole he was, he was just picking up on Dave’s feeling of unease.

“Let’s get this over with,” Dave sighed.

As always, Dave was the one to end—and win—the strife. It was so fucking _infuriating_ ; even at times like these, when Dave seemed to only half be paying attention, he was still in full control. There was the _rare_ occurrence of Karkat catching him off guard, sure, but never in the first match of the day.

“That didn’t last very long,” Aradia commented, walking up to them. She stopped a good fifteen feet away.

“Long enough,” said Dave. “I feel pretty warmed up. Karkat, do you feel warmed up?”

Karkat sighed.

“Okay, great. Time for the much-anticipated two-vee-one,” Dave continued. “Where’s your… whatever you fight with?” he asked Aradia.

“I don’t really need it, but…” She performed some sort of complicated flourish with her hand, a single-tail leather whip unfurling from seemingly nowhere.

“Impressive,” said Dave, “and also a little kinky.”

“It’s surprisingly lethal,” Aradia assured him, flicking her wrist.

The whip shot forwards, winding itself around the blade of Dave’s sword. Before he—or Karkat—registered what was happening, Aradia flicked the whip again and the Deringer was yanked out of Dave’s hand, hitting the wall behind her with a deafening clatter.

At first, Dave didn’t react, merely glancing down at his empty sword hand in stunned silence. Karkat, meanwhile, was busy diving for his sickle, not having had the chance to pick it up after Dave had disarmed him. He retrieved it and turned in time to see the whip headed straight for another shot at Dave. Dave, recovered from his surprise, tried to skip out of the way, but the whip itself seemed to anticipate his movements, bending in mid-air to follow him and catching him around the wrist

Aradia pulled the whip taut, almost pulling Dave off balance. A good ten feet away, Karkat did the first thing that occurred to him and hurled the sickle towards the whip, sending it tumbling end over end and hoping it would hit blade-first. It did, but to little effect—the whip didn’t break, but it at least let go of Dave. Not that it mattered—it was instantly headed in his direction again.

This was a cheap fucking tactic on Aradia’s part.

“Do the thing!” Dave yelled, avoiding the whip by throwing himself to the floor, sliding on his front towards Karkat.

Dave’s hand closed around his ankle, and the whip froze, suspended in the air… No, wait. It was still moving, just… in slow-motion.

Karkat glanced down at Dave, who was looking up at him, breathing heavily. “Thought I’d… buy you some time,” he panted, hand still gripping Karkat’ ankle.

“Wow,” Karkat replied.

“Just… do the fucking Blood thing already. I can’t keep this shit up for long.”

Karkat looked up at Aradia, who hadn’t moved an inch from where she was standing when she’d first lashed out (quite fucking literally) at Dave. Her trademark wide-eyed grin was affixed to her face, as if she were having the time of her goddamn fucking life. Knowing her, she probably was.

The whip inched closer, carving a trajectory towards Dave’s ankle.

Karkat honed in on Aradia’s wrist and hand, imagining the maroon-red blood coursing between each tendon and bone, sped along by adrenaline and the quickened heartrate that came with battle—even if it had only been a few seconds. His own hand, still clenched into a fist as if around his sickle’s handle, started to burn in response. It wasn’t painful, just… uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he said. “Let go.”

Dave let go of his ankle.

Karkat opened his fist.

Aradia dropped her whip, which flopped uselessly to the floor.

“Jesus fuck,” Karkat gasped, suddenly drained. He dropped to his knees beside Dave, who had rolled onto his back and was breathing heavily as he stared up at the ceiling, rubbing his wrist.

“Very good!” Aradia laughed. “You cheated a little, but I’ll forgive you.”

“If _we_ cheated, _you_ fucking cheated!” Karkat pointed out. “Look me in the fucking eyes and tell me you weren’t using telekinesis on that nook-scalding leather hell-ribbon of yours.”

“Alright, fine,” Aradia conceded, “it was fair game. But surely you won’t need Dave to slow things down for you next time?”

Karkat looked down at his hand, flexing it. The burning feeling had disappeared—it had been like carbonation in his blood; bubbles fizzing through his veins, looking for an escape route. The escape route, somehow, had been Aradia. Karkat had no fucking idea how _that_ worked, but the fact that it worked at all was simultaneously the most mystifying part and the only part that mattered. “Maybe,” he said.

“You better fucking not,” Dave chimed in, sitting up, still holding his wrist. “Why did you _throw_ your weapon, Karkat?”

“What else was I gonna do?” Karkat retorted. “Not like I ended up fucking needing it.”

“Still not a smart thing to do, bro.”

“I really wasn’t thinking about the _smart_ thing, Dave, I was thinking about how the resident death-obsessed psycho over here was about to tear your arm out of its fucking socket.”

“She wasn’t _actually_ going to hurt me. Much.” Dave glanced at Aradia. “Right?”

“No comment,” Aradia sang.

“ _See_?” Karkat insisted. He wouldn’t put anything past that girl.

“In any case,” Aradia continued, “I think we’ve made some great progress today, guys! But, if you’ll excuse me, I have business elsewhere.” And then she disappeared.

“She really gets on my nerves sometimes,” Dave confessed.

“You don’t say,” Karkat agreed. He looked down at Dave’s hands; his right was still curled around his left wrist. “Uh… she didn’t get you _too_ badly, did she?”

“Nah.” Dave let go of his wrist to reveal an inflamed band of reddish-pink around the top of his wrist. The colour drew a striking contrast to the alien paleness of the rest of his skin. “Skin’s not broken or anything, just hurts like a bitch. It’ll probably bruise” He frowned. “This is my good arm, too.”

“Well,” Karkat sighed, “not anymore.” He shifted so he wasn’t sitting on his legs. “She took off in a hurry. You’d think she was being chased by the intergalactic time police or some bullshit like that.”

“Policing time would be a hard fucking job,” Dave mused, still staring at the mark on his wrist. “It’s probably just because the temple’s in all hells of disarray at the moment, and she _is_ an apostle…”

“Oh, yeah. The head apostle’s been missing for… what, a month, now?” Karkat remembered. “And they still haven’t found anything. Think she might be in cahoots with the King or something?”

Dave raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I seriously fucking doubt it. Although… I don’t know. Could be, I guess? I know next to nothing about either of them, so.” He shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

“Leijon,” Karkat mused. That was the name of the missing head apostle. “I know someone else called Leijon.” Nepeta. He wondered how she was doing.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, we were… friends. At Skaia.” He could only fucking hope that she was still alive.

“Huh.” Dave was silent for a moment. “Was that the one whose life you saved?”

Karkat made a face. “Involuntarily saved, yeah. Not that I _regret_ it, of course I fucking don’t, but, you know. I didn’t actively _do_ anything.”

“Yeah, I get it. Karkat the accidental hero.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Dave laughed. “Anyway, you want to keep strifing, or are we just gonna sit here on the floor chatting like schoolgirls for the rest of the afternoon?”

Karkat gave Dave a pointed look. “We are _not_ going to keep strifing when our oh-so-great fucking Time tutor just fucked up your sword arm.”

“Karkat, come on. I was joking, it’s really not that bad.”

“No?” Karkat shot out a hand and grabbed Dave’s wrist, right around the inflamed red mark. Dave winced. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I can see that you are one hundred percent fucking peachy, almost as if you got out of that strife unscathed! Incredible!”

Dave sighed.

Frowning, Karkat released his wrist. “Are you… okay?”

“I should be.”

“That’s not what I asked, dumbfuck.”

Silence. Twelve seconds of it. “I don’t know.”

Well that definitely wasn’t an answer, either. “Uh-huh.”

“Sorry.”

“For what?”

Dave shifted uncomfortably, as if unsure how to set his shoulders. “Do we have to get into this now? Here?”

Karkat heaved a sigh and pushed himself to his feet, offering Dave a hand up. “Well, we have nineteen fucking flights of stairs to walk all the way back up because for _some_ ridiculous fucking reason, no one wants to install a god damn elevator in this labyrinthine hellhole of a palace—would it _really_ be that difficult? I don’t think it would, I’m almost certain that it would be pretty fucking simple, actually.”

Dave grinned as Karkat hauled him to his feet. “Hey, it’s good exercise. But, uh… I can try the location-jump thing Aradia was talking about if you really can’t be bothered.”

“Fuck.” Karkat raised his eyebrows. “You sure that’s a good idea? And with a… passenger?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. You’re my _good luck charm_ , remember?”

Karkat scoffed. “Oh, fuck the fuck off. I’m pretty sure Aradia was only implying all that bullshit to make me feel better about the progress I haven’t been making.”

“She wasn’t kidding, bro, trust me,” Dave said, shaking his head. “I mean, yeah, the shit about personal harmony is completely off-base, but you’re pretty helpful.”

“Gee, thanks a whole fucking lot.”

“I’m being serious. Okay, remember that cut you accidentally gave me?”

How could he possibly forget _that_ fuck-up. “Yes…”

“Remember how it healed in, like, a few days?”

“What does this have to do with me, exactly?” Karkat asked impatiently.

“ _Everything._ Karkat, you were listening to what Aradia was saying about the active/passive thing, right?” Dave asked. “And how Time is active as fuck? Which basically means that even the things I do _unintentionally_ —usually stopping time or whatever—are still, like… _actions_.”

“So…?”

“ _So_ , I can’t speed-heal myself, can I? That’s passive as fuck.”

Karkat blinked. “What, you think _I_ had something to do with it?”

“Yes!”

“Why the fuck would you think that?”

“The symbol for Blood literally looks like a bleeding cut, you ignorant sack of horn shavings.”

Wow. Horn shavings (thankfully) were _not_ a thing, and on any other occasion Karkat would have called Dave out on that. However, there were more pressing things to call him out on at present. “Okay, fucking— _wonderful_. Suppose you’re right, which you’re not. Oooh, oh boy! I helped heal a _single insignificant fucking boo-boo_ which I inflicted in the first place. I am _such_ a productive and helpful team member! _Everyone_ wants me around because _I_ just contribute _so. Fucking. Much!_ ”

Dave smacked his forehead with his palm. “ _Oh_ , my god, I’m _trying_ to help you out here, but fine. You wanna see yourself that way? Fucking go ahead, but I can prove two things to you right here and fucking now.”

“Oh yeah?” Karkat laughed. “Go ahead, Strider!”

“Firstly, I _can’t speed-heal_.” He lifted his injured wrist, putting his other hand beneath it. He bowed his head in concentration for a moment, and Karkat swore he could feel a tangible shift in… the air currents, or something.

The red band around Dave’s wrist remained the same. “See?” he said.

“Alright! I fucking well believe you.”

“About what? Me not being able to speed-heal or you being the one responsible for the speed-healing?” He sighed and continued before Karkat could answer. “Because there’s literally no other explanation.”

Karkat reconsidered his retort. “Fine,” he said quietly, though he still didn’t truly believe it. “What was the other thing you wanted to prove?”

“That you really are a good luck charm,” Dave said levelly. “Or a battery at the very least. How do you think I was able to maintain the slowdown for so damn long earlier?”

“Well, Dave, the more you use a muscle, the stronger it fucking gets!”

“No shit, shithole! How do you think you were able to stop Aradia on the first try?” Dave questioned. “ _Obviously_ it’s because your Blood-muscles—ugh, that sounds awful. Obviously it’s because your aspect-using muscles have been being stretched _passively_ , constantly, all the damn time. Which makes it easier for you to use them actively.”

“Alright, sure, I can concede _that_ hunk of steaming bullshit to apparently be reality, but what the fuck does it have to do with you slowing time?”

Dave opened his mouth to retort, then decided against whatever he was about to say. Instead, he sighed. “I’ll show you.”

“And how are you planning to—?”

Dave grabbed Karkat’s wrist, and there was something much more than a mere shift in the air currents. This was more like being plunged into turbulent waters, but only for the merest second.

Then they were standing in the middle of Dave’s room.

Dave let go of Karkat and doubled over, hands on his knees, panting as if he’d just run a mile. Oddly, Karkat also felt a little more drained than he had a second earlier.

“God damn,” Dave gasped. “It gets easier, but it never gets easy.”

For once, Karkat had no retort.

“Man…” Dave continued, slumping over to his bed, “I’m glad that worked.”

Karkat was broken from his reverie. “Just what the _fuck_ would have happened if it hadn’t?”

Dave shrugged. “We’d be stuck in a timeless void for all eternity.”

Karkat narrowed his eyes. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah. But not for nothing—do you believe me now?”

“You still haven’t really proved anything.”

Dave groaned. “ _Karkat_!”

“Seriously— _what_ did that prove?”

“I just tried something _completely_ new and got it right the first time—and I’m still conscious. Does that mean nothing to you?”

It _was_ actually sort of astounding, with Dave’s track record thus far. And… there was the mystery of how a chunk of Karkat’s remaining energy was spontaneously gone. That was worth figuring out in depth some other time. “Well… I’m… proud of you? I guess? Fucking—what do you want me to say?”

Dave rubbed his eyes beneath his shades. “Can you at least just believe me when I tell you that you _are_ like a good luck charm?”

Karkat shifted from foot to foot. “It’s… complicated.” It was more than fucking complicated. “You’re a human, so I really wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Dave paused and lowered his hands, staring at Karkat. “Oh, great. Troll stuff,” he said. “What colour romance are we examining today, Monsieur?”

It was almost embarrassing how nonchalant Dave was about stuff he barely had any notion of.

Karkat sighed and perched on the edge of the coffee table, facing Dave where he sat cross-legged on the bed. “Well, okay, bear with me here. One of the important aspects of the pale quadrant is that each participant balances the other out, or makes up for what they lack. Now, there’s quite a wide scope of interpretation as to what this balancing act might be, since _of course_ it’s not an exact science… The point is—”

“You’re basically saying that you being my good luck charm would make us palebros?” Dave interrupted. Rudely— _very_ fucking rudely.

Irritatingly, Karkat could feel the faintest flush of heat rising in his cheeks. “It’s a decidedly pale dynamic,” he said calmly.

“Okay,” Dave said, an amused smirk playing around his lips. “So, what’s the problem here? I’m not seeing the problem, Karkat. Oh, no, wait—I see it.” He sighed. “It’s like… I get a good luck charm-slash-battery or whatever, but you just get some asshole wearing shades hanging around you all the time.”

“Dave!”

“It’s true, isn’t it? I’m just…” he trailed off and looked away, striking an uncomfortable resemblance to a rejected puppy. Karkat felt an unexpected wave of emotion that, whilst a little uncomfortable, wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Or unfamiliar.

Oh. Fuck. Fucking… _fuck_.

“Oh, fuck,” Karkat said. “We—we really are… we could be…”

Fucking _fuck_ of fucking _course_ this was fucking happening—of fucking _course_ he was waxing pale for a _fucking human._ And probably had been for a while, all without realising it until it was evident that his feelings were returned by said human, who didn’t even _understand_ what _the whole fucking thing even fucking meant!_

Karkat stood suddenly. “Dave, this--this _whole_ fucking time…”

Dave looked up. “What?”

“This _whole fucking time_ … Oh my _fucking_ god, Aradia probably set this whole thing up on purpose! She _wanted_ this to happen, because she _knows_ moirails are a strong combat duo—but _why?_ ”

Karkat crossed the room and sat down beside Dave, who finally looked appropriately startled and confused.

“Dave,” Karkat said seriously, “we’ve been spiralling towards moirallegiance practically this entire fucking time without even fucking _realising_ it.”

“Cool, bro,” Dave replied, still confused. “Why is this such a stunning revelation?”

Karkat deflated within a second, looking down at his feet—which, since the bed was unnecessarily elevated, dangled a few centimetres off the floor. Why _was_ it such a big fucking deal?

He knew exactly why it was such a big fucking deal.

“Because my last attempted moirallegiance ended in complete disaster,” he admitted. “I’m… I’m not a good moirail, Dave.”

“You mean… the clown guy you told me about?” Dave asked. “Uh, wasn’t he an unstable drug addict with violent tendencies?”

“Yeah,” Karkat confirmed bitterly, “and I was supposed to be able to keep him in check, but—”

“Okay, that doesn’t really matter. You don’t need to dig up the emotional shitheap for no reason,” Dave said gently. Karkat looked up. “Point is… I’m pretty sure I’m not at risk of, like, going on a violent rampage. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best moirail I’ve ever had.”

“That’s a cheap compliment,” Karkat pointed out. “Since I’m the _only_ moirail you’ve ever had.”

“The honour is all yours,” Dave said, flashing a brief grin. “Seriously, though. I thought it would be really hard. Not having Rose around, I mean—she was, like, the only permanent fixture in my life. But… it’s been okay. With you here.” He frowned and shuddered. “Jesus, that might be the cheesiest fucking thing to ever come out of my mouth. It’s like I inhaled the entire goddamn fondue and puked it back up in the form of sincerity.”

Karkat laughed. “Alright, okay. I believe you.”

Dave’s grin resurfaced. Karkat couldn’t help but return it.

KARKAT: I’M PRETTY SURE ARADIA WAS ONLY IMPLYING ALL THAT BULLSHIT TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER ABOUT THE PROGRESS I HAVEN’T BEEN MAKING.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so exhausted right now, but I've been putting off posting this chapter for days, so just... just take it. Take it from my trembling hands before I drop it. With that in mind... let me know if you see any typos or anything?? 
> 
> There's a lot I'm iffy about with this chapter but it does have my favourite dubiously meta moment of the whole fic thus far, _and_ my favourite dubiously self-referential moment. ;) Kudos to _you_ if you can spot 'em both.


	39. Interlude: Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All that remained in his mind as he struggled uselessly against the unbearably cold water/not-water was an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. The knowledge that he was, without a sliver of doubt, about to die._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude?? That's new. Sort of. There are definitely other chapters which could classify as interludes which I might actually go back and label as such. On another note, it's, er... been a bit? I won't bother regaling you with excuses because there are too many and now this in itself is turning into an excuse god fucking damn it. Long story short: it's unlikely that updates will ever be as frequent as they once were.

**i.**

He was running. In some far-off forest, half-remembered from a half-coherent childhood memory, Jake was running. Running from something unseen that chased him, crashing through branches and undergrowth, growing closer every second. He didn’t dare look back, just urged himself on, body strangely weightless. Eventually, the trees parted like curtains and he skidded to a stop at the edge of a great lake. The body of water was so vast and so dark that Jake could see neither the bottom nor the opposite bank.

Finally, he glanced behind him, his heart doing an anxious _hop-skip-jump_ as he saw the trees begin to tremble, the pounding of the monster’s footsteps quaking the ground, as if the world itself were terrified of whatever horrible _thing_ was after him.

Left with no other choice, Jake plunged head-first into the dark, dark water. The frigid cold was such a contrast to the humid forest air that it wrenched the air from his lungs, drawing an involuntary gasp from his throat. The water flooded his mouth—except it wasn't water. It was too dark. Too cold. Too _thick._ The taste was vaguely metallic and salty. Whatever it was, it flooded into his lungs to replace the recently-vacated air, settling itself in his chest like a cold weight.

All around him was darkness: squeezing him, choking him. He’d long since lost track of which way was up, down, left, right. The beast was forgotten. He didn’t even know his own name anymore. All that remained in his mind as he struggled uselessly against the unbearably cold water/not-water was an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. The knowledge that he was, without a sliver of doubt, about to die.

The realisation, rather than instilling fear in him, was… oddly calming. Peaceful. There was no point in struggling, so he stopped. He gave in, and the darkness around him—within him—grew warm.

It took a moment or two for Jake to realise that he wasn’t asleep anymore. The dream had ended in such uncharacteristic calm that the difference between the sensation of pressing darkness all around and the feeling of his pillow against his face weren’t so different, somehow.

He opened his eyes. The day was in full swing, as told by the straining light behind his curtains, begging to be properly let in. His laptop was still open on the mattress in front of him, but the screen was blank and none of the lights were on. He guessed it had run out of battery sometime after he’d fallen asleep.

Jake sat up, rubbing his face with his hands. The side of his face that had been pressed into his pillow felt sticky and clammy—a surprisingly good analogy for how the inside of his head felt, too. He’d been no stranger to some _weird_ dreams recently, but _that_ one had been a whole new brand of bonkers.

It had started off as per usual, running through the forest, being chased. Usually that comprised the entirety of the nightmare—running from an unseen beast which always seemed to get closer but never actually caught him before he woke up. Not that his dream-self was ever aware of that—the dream was exactly as terrifying each and every time, as if Jake were experiencing it anew. When, really… he wasn’t. Not at all. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he _hadn’t_ been greeted by tangled branches and monstrous gaining footsteps when he fell asleep.

Typically, though, the dream ended when his limbs became so heavy he could no longer move them, and just as he turned to face the monster, resigned to his fate, he would wake up. He’d seen a _few_ variations, but nothing so major as this—he’d never encountered a lake before, never drowned in some sort of warped personification of darkness or hopelessness or whatever the dickens it had been. And, really, he would be quite happy to serve himself up to whatever monster plagued his subconscious every night for the rest of his life if he never had to encounter _that_ variation again. It had ended peacefully enough, sure, but only in comparison to the preceding vision of drowning in _nothingness_ , which had felt so… so _visceral_ , so terrifyingly real.

When Jake was four years old, he’d wandered away from his mother while she was hanging out washing, fully intent to find an adventure. The village they’d lived in was so _small_ , and the other kids, for whatever reason, kept their distance from him, resulting in a very bored young Jake. He’d wandered off into a nearby forest—the same one from the dream, probably—and come across a small lake. On the opposite bank he’d spied a small meadow of flowers, and decided he would take a bunch back to Mother. In retrospect, he pretty easily could have gone _around_ the lake, but as soon as he spied the large, flat piece of bark that had peeled off a nearby tree, his head had been filled with the desire to heroically sail it to the other side of the lake—just like they did in the movies!

Jake couldn’t remember if it was because the bark was too flimsy or because he had trouble balancing on it, but he barely got a few feet off the shore before he toppled over, almost instantly inhaling a mouthful of murky water. The lake was deeper than it had looked from the shore, and, with _no_ idea how to swim, Jake had sunk like a stone, his thrashing achieving nothing but blinding himself with bubbles and tangling his limbs in slimy sub-aquatic weeds.

Luckily for him, Mother hadn’t been far behind and rescued him quickly, but those few seconds of panicked submersion had felt like an hour. He’d been four years old, and yet he remembered it _vividly_.

But he hadn’t thought about that in years. He was only thinking about it _now_ because the feeling of drowning in his nightmare and the memory of nearly drowning for real were, as expected, uncanny. It wasn’t a remotely comfortable resemblance.

The reminder of his mother’s absence wasn’t particularly welcome, either.

Jake ran his hands through his hair, grimacing at how greasy and tacky it felt between his fingers. When was the last time he’d had a shower? He ran his tongue over the backs of his teeth as he tried to remember. When was the last time he’d even cleaned his teeth?

Sighing to himself, he pulled himself out of bed and trotted over to the bathroom for some long-overdue self-care. What was going through his mind to let himself get into such a state, anyway?

The thrum of hot water on his back and the taste of spearmint helped chase away the clinging dregs of his nightmare and the feeling of numb dread that had followed him into wakefulness. He came out of the bathroom feeling a little more human, his hair dripping and a towel clutched around his hips—a towel which he nearly dropped when he saw Jade sitting atop his newly-made bed, scrolling through something on his laptop.

“What are you doing?!” he yelped, in the manliest voice he had ever said anything in. He definitely didn’t squeak. Not even slightly.

Jade looked up, a wicked grin crossing her face. “Waiting for you,” she said, as if it were obvious—which, Jake supposed, it sort of was?

“Good heavens, Jade,” Jake said, affixing the towel a little more firmly around his waist, “you _do_ know that most people knock before they enter someone’s living space?”

“Who wants to be _most people_?” Jade scoffed. “Did _you_ know that most people receive guests with clothes on?”

“I just got out of the bloody shower!” Jake spluttered, feeling self-conscious, to say the least. “I’d _gladly_ put something on if you’d give me half a fucking chance!”

Jade giggled and shuffled around so that she was facing the wall. Jake didn’t fail to notice how she didn’t relinquish his laptop—what was she even looking at? “Okaaaay, I’m not looking!” she sang.

Jake sighed and pulled out the first clothes he lay hands on when he reached into his wardrobe, hiding behind the wooden door for a _little_ more privacy and getting dressed as swiftly as he could.

“You have a _lot_ of unanswered messages,” Jade remarked as he was tugging a clean shirt over his head. “Can’t help but notice that none of them are unread, though...”

“Yes, well,” Jake said shortly, closing the wardrobe doors and scrubbing the towel over his head in an attempt to take some more of the dampness out of it. “I’ve been…”

“You’ve been…?” Jade prompted, looking over her shoulder at him.

“Busy.”

“Busy?”

“Y-yes. _Very_ busy.”

“Busy… with what?”

“With… busy things!”

Jade frowned and set Jake’s laptop to one side, hopping off the bed and coming over to him. She was… tall, Jake realised. Almost the same height as him. When had his baby sister grown so tall?

She swatted his hands away from his head and took the towel, rubbing vigorously—but not painfully—at his hair.

“I’ve been worried,” she said softly. Jake couldn’t quite see her expression through the folds of the towel, especially not when his glasses were still on the bathroom counter. “So has John. And Jane—even if she denies it. And—everyone!”

She lowered the towel, leaving Jake with a faint tingling sensation all over his scalp. Her eyes were wide and earnest behind her glasses, and Jake was powerless to stop the stab of cold guilt through his gut.

“I know,” he whispered, dropping his gaze to his feet, noticing somewhere in the back of his mind that he’d put odd socks on. “Like you said, none of the messages are unread. Just… unanswered.”

“You don’t need to do everything immediately,” Jade said. “But if you don’t do _something_ you’ll just feel worse and worse and worse about it, until you can’t take it anymore.”

“I know,” he repeated.

“At least—at least let everyone in the palace know you’re still alive, okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathed.

Jade stared at him a moment longer, and he avoided eye contact a moment longer. Then she tossed the soggy towel onto the bed and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Go get your glasses,” she said, the usual pep returning to her voice. “I _actually_ came up here to drag you to lunch, since everyone else is apparently _‘too busy’_ to hang out with me.”

Jake looked up and smiled, feeling strangely surprised when he realised the smile was genuine.

 

**ii.**

Either John was going crazy, or everyone was lying to him. He was _certain_ the weather had been acting weird lately—he could hardly go outside without getting blown off his feet by the wind, but apparently it was only that way when _he_ was around. Which just seemed ridiculous, right? There was no way his luck could be that terrible.

…Right?

He had a naturally good sense of direction, but even if he didn’t he knew when he was getting close to the courtyard from the breeze that whistled down the corridor to greet him. The breeze that grew stronger the closer he got, until it couldn’t really be called a _breeze_ anymore, but something closer to a gale.

John stood dolefully in the entrance to the courtyard, watching the wind whip the grass and flowers and trees to and fro.

“Oh, I thought I could smell a strong wind,” crooned a familiar voice behind him.

He whipped around. Terezi.

“Wind doesn’t _have_ a smell,” he reminded her. “I mean—you can’t even _see_ wind, you don’t need to smell it, you can _feel_ it.”

She waved a dismissive hand, irritating smirk affixed on her face. There was just something about Terezi that got on John’s nerves. He _liked_ her well enough, there was just _something_ about her that never failed to get under his fingernails.

“Oh, John. You know what I mean. I’d really appreciate it if you’d cut it out, though.”

“Cut _what_ out?”

She cocked her head, leaning on her cane and grinning patronisingly at him. “The windy thing, _obviously_.”

He blinked at her. “What? Terezi, I do not control the wind. No one controls the wind.”

“Oh, of course, yes. No one controls the _wind_. Just as no one controls the flow of time or the distribution of space, right, John?”

She had him there. Annoyingly enough. “Do you really think _I_ have something to do with it being so windy all the time?”

“It’s not windy all the time, John. It’s windy when _you’re_ around. I’m just making the logical deductions, here.”

He stared out into the courtyard and… concentrated. Imagined the wind being less violent.

Apparently the wind wasn’t telepathic.

“Hey,” he said aloud. “Uh… wind! Stop being so, um, windy!”

Apparently the wind also did not have ears.

“Stunning,” Terezi drawled sarcastically from behind him.

“Shut up,” John growled, stepping back from the courtyard entrance.

The wind lessened slightly.

John sighed.

“For someone so clueless, you don’t smell particularly surprised,” Terezi noted.

“You can’t smell emoti— oh, whatever,” he sighed. There was no point arguing with her on some things—including scents. “I guess I’m _not_ surprised. I mean… like you said, it was a logical deduction. I just didn’t make it consciously.”

“Ooh, John Egbert, the subconscious deduction machine!” Terezi giggled. “But, really, on a more serious note—it’s probably not your fault that your latent powers are being dragged out of you and out of your control.”

“ _Probably_ not?”

“Probably not. You know about the Moon of Prospit, right, John?”

Of course he did. It was literally the _only_ thing Rose talked about anymore, which, to say the least, made her a _little_ difficult to hang out with. He’d also heard about it—to a lesser extent, and in a very different light—from Jade, who was weary about the effect it had been having on the aspect powers of those all over the city— Oh.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yes. Oh,” Terezi agreed. She frowned. “Nothing about it is good news, no matter what Lalonde has Seen.”

John shrugged uncomfortably, head reeling, not really knowing where to start with all these realisations—the fact that _he_ could potentially have aspect powers had occurred to him before, of course, thanks to Jade, but it was still a strange notion. “I guess you would know,” he conceded.

“That’s what makes me wary,” said Terezi, “I _don’t_ know.”

“Huh?” John frowned at her. “But you’re the Seer of Mind, aren’t you supposed to be able to… _See_ these sorts of things?”

“Yep,” she confirmed. “But not all of us have had our powers amplified by the Moon’s presence, John.”

It took a couple seconds to mull over the implications of what Terezi was saying, but he still didn’t get it.

“I don’t get it,” he said.

“Your powers of deduction continue to astound.”

Then he got it. “Wait—you haven’t been able to See anything lately? Because of the Moon?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s the one.” She sighed sharply. “I need to get going. You should give the Parthenon a call.”

Before John could reply, she was gone—out across the courtyard, where John couldn’t follow without causing a hurricane. She moved swiftly, considering she was blind. But, then again, (John had to remind himself,) her blindness had never really seemed to hinder her.

Still, though. It must have been frustrating to lose—hopefully only temporarily—the only other form of Sight she had. Clearly it bothered her, or she wouldn’t have run away in such a hurry.

Sighing—and it might have just been his imagination, but the wind seemed to sigh with him—he turned around and headed back into the windless palace interior, figuring he might as well follow Terezi’s advice. He missed being able to go outside.

**JOHN: no one controls the wind.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's technically already 4/13 where I am so happy 4/13, friends.
> 
> Also I'm sorry if that chapter was a mess, I wrote the first part almost two months ago and the second part has only been proofread once (I usually aim for thrice). I kinda just wanted to post _something_ for the sake of updates and because it's already been an age. Additionally, my head _really_ hurts for some reason. Not relevant, but definitely obstructive to clear thinking. e_e
> 
> \-- UPDATE 2018/01/03 --   
> To get straight to it, I am _not_ abandoning this fic. I'm far too stubborn and still maintain that I _will_ finish it one day. I have the desire to, just not the motivation, as of now. That's the main point of this message.
> 
> Meanwhile, have some handy links! 
> 
> You can find chapter summaries (which might come in handy if/when I return) [here](https://nothinglost.tumblr.com/summaries). Why yes, I did I make a whole fucking tumblr just for those damn summaries. If you want more details about the current status of _NRNL_ and why it's been so long (+ me complaining about my life), see [this post](https://nothinglost.tumblr.com/post/169225402039/oh-of-course-the-first-thing-i-actually-post-here). Hey, maybe I'll even post other things sometimes who knows. Chapter previews and whatnot. And hit me up via the ask box if you have any questions/want to... chat, I guess?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Not just this update, but this whole story. Even if I never update again, I wish you all the best.


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